


The Respite

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey, Gormenghast (TV)
Genre: Cross Over, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien accompany several of the Crawleys on a family visit to the Earldom of Gormenghast. There, Thomas reconciles with O'Brien and meets the loneliest man in the world. </p><p>[Set post Downton Abbey 2012 CS and between 1st and 2nd books of Gormenghast trilogy. No prior knowledge of Gormenghast necessary.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sarah O'Brien was suffering.

Her heavy black woolen clothes were failing to protect her against the brisk chill of the air, sitting as she was in the open-top section of the trundling carriage, while at the same time rendering her skin hot and sticky in the muggy damp emanating from the salt-marshes that lay to either side of the inadequately leveled road. The hard bench under her rapidly numbing backside had no restraints, and she had been clinging on to the railing that ran around the top of the carriage for dear life ever since they had left the port. The large cobblestones that had jostled the carriage within the town as they had begun their journey had provided only the slightest taster of the uneven roads to be found further inland in the unfamiliar country. The uncomfortable sea voyage to reach the port in the first place had left her exhausted. The palaver associated with unpacking and re-packing as well as the need to load everything into an inadequately sized carriage for the final leg of the journey, making sure they kept up with the other guests who had travelled from far and wide for the same purpose, hadn't helped with her mood.

Her earlier desire to take in the prospect of the new and exotic location had dulled the twinge of jealousy at being denied accommodation in the lower, covered, part of the carriage along with Lord and Lady Grantham and Lady Mary. Now, several hours into the journey, this enthusiasm for the new had been thoroughly slaughtered.

As the journey had progressed further the smell of the marshes began to increasingly sting her nose, the rattle of the procession of carriages they were travelling with irritated her ears, her eyes were heavy with exhaustion and every bone in her body ached as she fought to keep sitting upright (or at least on) the hard benches on top of the carriage.

All of the aforementioned troubles absolutely paled in comparison to the fact that she had never wished for a cigarette more in her entire life. Unfortunately for Sarah, the only way to obtain one would require breaking a resolute vow of silence, excepting enmity, towards a certain Mr Thomas Barrow, that she had maintained as a point of honor for almost a full year.

She endeavored to ignore her craving, stealing dark glances across the carriage-top at her sole travelling companion at regular intervals.

The journey wasn't being much kinder to Thomas.

He too resented being thrown about as the carriage wheels seemed to find every rut and rock in the road. The road looked to him like some ancient track way but, he had been reliably informed at the port, had actually been constructed disturbingly recently in anticipation of the celebrations they were on their way to attend. His suit was slightly less cumbersome than Sarah's long dress and petticoats, but still unsuited for the humid air. He was intensely thankful for his trilby hat given that the sun had been mercilessly beating down on them for the entire journey, annoyingly doing nothing to dispel the damp and rank air of the salt-marsh or the strangely cold temperature.

As uncomfortable as the journey was, he still offered up thanks for the fact that he had been drafted in to take over from Bates for this particular trip due to Anna's well timed (or, according to Sarah, very very inconveniently timed) projected delivery date. He had been fantasising about the potential for a brief change of scenery for some time, and he could never have achieved such a far-flung journey out of his own pocket.

Facing forwards, casting the odd amused glance over at Sarah who sat diagonally opposite, clearly in greater discomfort than himself, he could see a bank of looming grey boulders on the horizon as the road seemed to bear to the West.

He reached a hand into his suit pocket, reasoning that an impending change of scenery was as good a reason as any for his thirteenth cigarette of the morning.

'Can you spare one of those?' Sarah's voice rang out over the rattling of the carriage wheels.

Thomas smirked to himself. He had suspected she had run out; having recognised the habitual twitch in her right cheek that signified the need for a nicotine dose shortly after they had left the main cobbled road for the wilderness and having also noticed she had since made no move to indulge her habit throughout the entire rotten journey.

He made sure to light the cigarette held between his lips slowly, with as much grace as was possible given the need to cling on to the carriage railings tightly with his free hand to avoid being ejected. Eventually he turned his head to meet Sarah's gaze, properly acknowledging her existence for the first time in a good long while.

He didn't think he had ever seen her look quite so uncomfortable.

'Say again?' He said, entirely without bothering to pretend with his expression or inflection that he hadn't in fact heard in the first place.

Sarah's right cheek twitched violently. 'I was merely enquiring…' She said in a drawling and venomous voice. '…whether the noble Mr Barrow might consent to provide a cigarette to a lady in dire need of one.'

'And where is this lady?' Thomas replied brightly, his lips curling into a thin and bitter smile.

Sarah rolled her eyes, temporarily more angry at herself for having provided Thomas with quite such an obvious 'opening' rather than with Thomas's actual response. She held his gaze for a few moments before giving a defeated shake of her head, turning away to stare across the largely barren landscape they were passing through.

'Oh go on then.' Thomas mumbled, cigarette still between his lips.

Reluctant as she was to engage with Thomas in any way, it was with intense relief that Sarah momentarily leant forward off her seat to fish out a cigarette and the lighter from the package Thomas offered. Both of them kept a grip on their respective railings throughout as the carriage continued to rock.

She awkwardly lit the cigarette one handedly before leaning in again to pass the lighter back to Thomas.

It was at that moment that the marsh gave way to a sloping rock out-crop, heralding their approach to the boulder field up ahead. The road shifted from packed gravel and hard-core to a track way cut into the bed-rock itself, launching an unsuspecting Sarah up off of her seat as the carriage lurched violently.

There was an intensely awkward, but mercifully brief, moment when Sarah found herself steadied by Thomas instinctively grabbing for her shoulder. Cheeks coloring slightly, not that the change was all that visible given the pink rash that had crept up from her neckline as her lacy collar continued to rub, she quickly handed the lighter to Thomas and retreated back to her bench.

'This is bloody ridiculous!' She exclaimed once she had returned to tightly grasping at the railing behind and removed the cigarette from her mouth with the other hand.

'I won't argue with that.' Thomas replied with a raise of his eyebrows, stretching his arm out sideways to theatrically flick the ash of his cigarette over the side of the carriage. 'You'd best not be expecting me to supply you for the whole week.' He suddenly said, indicating the cigarette.

'You know very well that I have my own.' Sarah said darkly. 'But in case you hadn't noticed, the bags are rather hard to get to at present.'

Awkward silence reigned for a few minutes before they both separately came to the grudging realisation that now that they had deigned to acknowledge one another's existence, it would be necessary to continue to do so for the time being; at the risk of making the already hellish journey infinitely worse.

'Wonder how them indoors are doing.' Thomas eventually said with a pointed glance down at the wooden paneling under his feet that separated himself and Sarah from the Crawley family below.

'I'd say sleeping…normally.' Said Sarah with a curl of her lip. 'But this…' She bobbed her head exaggeratedly with the movements of the carriage. '…this is NOT normal.'

Thomas nodded.

They eyed each other nervously, both uncomfortable at the speed with which the attempt at conversation had died.

'Something tells me the fortress won't be as grand as His Lordship expects.' Thomas ventured, having to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of wood rumbling over stone. 'What type of Earldom doesn't even have a proper access road?'

'I think you'll be surprised.' Said Sarah. 'Her Ladyship told me that it is the largest fortress left at this corner of the Old Empire…besides, look at how many carriages they've had to lay on for the guests.'

Thomas spun around in his seat to view the procession of carriages snaking down the road behind them, not to mention those up ahead which were rapidly disappearing from view at the point where the marsh finally gave way fully to the stone field of boulders. It was an astonishing sight. And, in Thomas's not-so-humble opinion, a ridiculous amount of energy expenditure for the sake of a coming of age birthday celebration, even if it was for the 77th Earl of Groan…whatever  _that_  meant.

He and Sarah were cast into shade as their carriage made the transition from the marsh road into the track cut through the boulder field. Steep walls of rock rose on both sides of the carriage as they progressed up through the increasingly narrow passage.

His cigarette having burnt out, along with the second abortive attempt at conversation, Thomas decided to take advantage of the suddenly much more stable carriage to attend to the dirt under his finger nails that had been bothering him since disembarking the ship that morning.

Sarah raised an eyebrow as Thomas produced a tiny tool from the leather case in his inner pocket and proceeded to run the tip under his nails. She recognised the distinctive handle immediately.

'I thought that was for fixing clocks, not manicures.' She said, the mocking drawl once again recognisible. But with none of the undertones of affection that Thomas had once set so much store by.

'It's a multi-purpose tool.' Thomas replied, without missing a beat.

He tucked the implement back into the pocket tool-case when he had finished and hunted round for something else to occupy himself with as Sarah continued to remain sullenly quiet.

He sighed deeply in the gloom cast by the tall stones, beginning to feel truly claustrophobic for the first time in his life. His eyes fell on a pillar of sun-light up ahead which seemed to indicate the position of the exit from their oppressive surroundings and he found himself willing the parade of carriages to pick up speed to bring him towards it as soon as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

Emerging from the darkness of the stone cliffs that had loomed over the footpath on both sides was something akin to a spiritual experience for Thomas.

The sudden blaze of cool sunlight illuminated a vast landscape of sandy colored rocky crags and crevices, with patches of vegetation and trees snaking through them in bold clumps. From his vantage point, looking down over the awe inspiring expanse as the carriage began to turn to trundle down a steep looping track way, Thomas was preoccupied less with the surprising appearance of a mountain far on the horizon as he was with what lay at it's base.

'Well fuck me…' The words were out of his mouth before the thought of checking them had the chance to enter his mind.

Mocking his childish reaction with raised eyebrows and lips pursed in disdain, Sarah slowly turned round in her seat.

'Oh my…' She said breathlessly, trailing off as she repeatedly blinked and re-opened her eyes, wondering if somehow she had fallen asleep despite her precarious perch atop the carriage.

It had to be Gormenghast. The idea that they could in fact be passing by some other edifice en route to the fortress never crossed either of their minds, so titanic and expansive was the prospect before them.

Encircled by a smooth wall of yellow stone with towers protruding at irregular intervals, seemingly carved directly into the plateau below, the fortress itself consisted of a dense conglomeration of miss-matched but universally tall structures within. Thomas wasn't sure how many Downton Abbeys one could fit within the walls if one so desired, but the number was sufficiently high to make such comparison a meaningless embarrassment.

Sarah and Thomas passed the remainder of the journey in silence, partly through stagnant animosity but more due to sheer astonishment at the appearance of both Gormenghast and the landscape it stood within. Neither had been expecting that their journey to the East would turn up anything akin to the rolling moors of Yorkshire or the Victorian architecture of Downton but both would have agreed that Gormenghast was something other-worldly even in the context of it's exotic location to the east of the Med, despite their own lack of experience of the area.

Thomas did briefly debate giving a thump on the roof of the carriage to alert the family inside as to the spectacular view, but reasoned that if they had somehow managed to fall asleep during the journey they would be highly unlikely to thank him for the sentiment.

The final approach consisted of the carriage easing slowly through the narrow gaps between the towering buildings. Straggly people, who nevertheless were waving colored ribbons in a good imitation of enthusiasm, stood lining the route as the carriages inched forwards agonizingly slowly for the last part of the journey.

'You'd think the last century had passed them by.' Sarah said in bewilderment, eyeing the style of the coarse garments the spectators wore.

'More like half a millennia.' Thomas muttered, feeling increasingly on edge at the utter strangeness of everything that surrounded them.

As they halted immediately outside the gates of what Thomas could only presume was the inner courtyard, a slow moving old man reached to knock on the carriage door. Thomas bristled for a moment, ready to leap off the carriage and to the Crawley's aid should it be required. But as the man withdrew and then motioned for the driver to move on it became apparent that ensuring the guests were awake for their initial meeting with the Earl was the sum total of his purpose.

Within the courtyard, the enthusiasm of the welcome committee left a lot to be desired.

Two lines of purple coated men formed the arms of an open V shape, with a small, pale enthroned young man at it's apex, swathed in deep black and green silks hemmed in gold. Slightly to the side of him, a hunched old man with a long white beard stood by, apparently reading from a manuscript pressed between the pages of a large book. The book was resting on a board clasped to the back of an equally hunched servant.

Thomas couldn't help but blanch slightly at seeing a man being used to perform a job more suited to a lectern.

He also wasn't quite sure what to make of the sight of an Earl on a throne, or one wearing a brassy-hued crown at that.

The severe boredom and disinterest on the face of the sickly-looking young man did nothing to improve Thomas's unease about the situation, although he did feel a slight twinge of sympathy at the thought of how many dozens more carriage-loads of people the young man still had left to greet after them.

One of the purple coated men approached the carriage, moving just as maddeningly slowly as the man who had tapped on the window at the gates, and motioned for Thomas and Sarah to alight from the carriage as he reached for the door.

'At least there's no chance of you getting into trouble here.' Sarah whispered to Thomas as they rose unsteadily from their benches.

The intent was harsh and the allusion vicious, but her tone of voice was sufficiently close to the old confidant he had known that Thomas found himself suppressing a smirk as he took in the sight of the assembled servants.

There was not a man among them that could be confidently placed at under forty years old and Thomas doubted that he would have found a single one of them attractive even in the flower of youth (if, indeed, these men had ever 'flowered' in any sense) so unappealing was their posture and demeanor.

And on the other side of things, he doubted he would have found the sullen-faced Earl appetising even if he were a few years older (perhaps, more appropriately, by a decade or so).

Not that he had any intentions of pursuing such activities during the trip…no matter how much even the  _thought_  of it had begun to constantly claw at his innards in the past months.

It exasperated him that he had handled years of almost virtual celibacy without excess discomfort, but now thanks to his doomed advances towards a certain Mr Kent he had reawakened a fire that Just. Wouldn't. Die. He remained a primarily emotional creature at heart, but creatures have needs that transcend thoughts and feelings. Put simply, there was an itch he had been dying to scratch (with the aid of another person) for quite some time.

No matter how resolute his intentions to abstain, the current situation was probably for the best, he mused as he looked at the creaky old men that surrounded them.

The bearded man at the human-lectern spoke out suddenly, with an un-hurried booming voice that showed no signs of wear despite the large number of guests that had already been received that day.

'On this most auspicious day, I present His Lordship Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, Her Ladyship Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham and the Lady Mary Crawley to His Lordship Titus, 77th Earl of Groan, Lord of Gormenghast.' The man held his hands aloft as though blessing the assembled group as he finished.

Thomas noticed this only out of the corner of his eye; he had felt himself nodding off during the protracted listing of names and titles.

Titus managed a weak nod from his perch on the throne, which the Crawleys returned with slight bows and curtseys as appropriate.

'It is a delight to be here.' Robert said brightly, despite being clearly exhausted from the journey and more than a little perturbed at the particulars of the situation. He smiled up at Titus who responded by creasing his brow in astonishment.

Several of the assembled servants, including the speaker, seemed to have mild panic attacks at Lord Grantham having actually spoken in response to the initial introduction.

Mercifully, the moment quickly passed.

Following another round of bows and curtseys the Crawley's were directed inside by the purple coated man. Thomas and Sarah hovered awkwardly by the back of the carriage for a few moments before several other manservants stepped forwards to help them offload the luggage and lead them into the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

Both the Crawleys and their staff were equally unimpressed as the purple coated footman led them through the ancient maze of stone tunnels within the main castle. It wasn't so much the naked stone walling that they disapproved of, rather the mantle of cobwebs and dust that seemed to reach several inches thick along the base of the walls.

The two rooms set aside for the family were next to one another. Thin and balding tapestries provided some relief from the monotonous yellow of the walls, which was a small mercy. But the furniture of each room was utterly dwarfed by the height of the ceiling which gave them a decidedly less than homely feel.

As the luggage bearers clumsily dumped the cases in the larger of the two rooms the footman spoke up.

'Dinner and drinks will be served this evening in the Great Hall; we'll send someone to escort you.' His voice was croaky and his speech was just as slow as his manner of walking. 'Now…' He turned to Thomas and Sarah who were doing their best to keep their expressions neutral at the appearance of the family rooms. '…You two follow me to the servant's halls.'

'Could you perhaps give us directions?' Said Thomas, as he shrank out of the way of the luggage bearers retreating back into the corridor.

The footman's eyes widened.

'No.' He eventually replied.

Thomas frowned.

'It's a very long way.' The man clarified.

'In that case you will wait in the corridor while myself and Miss O'Brien get the family settled in, then you can convey us there.' Said Thomas.

'But…but...' The footman stuttered, having to clear his congested throat again before resuming. 'I have to get back to the main gate.'

Sarah piped up with a voice far more stern than Thomas's. 'Are you seriously suggesting my Mistress ought to have to wait in her travelling clothes after such a long journey until we can get back? And for no other reason than  _your_  convenience?'

The man actually retreated a few shaky steps backwards in the face of O'Brien's indignation.

'I'm sure we can wait a little while.' Robert cut in gently. Behind him the expressions of Cora and Mary looked highly unconvinced.

'Very well then.' Said Thomas without enthusiasm. 'Lead on.'

As the servants vacated the room Mary turned to Cora and Robert with a dark expression, silently chiding them for their assertion that the visit to Gormenghast would provide a diversion from her lingering grief.

'I know dear.' Said Cora apologetically, with a wry twist of her mouth as she gazed up at the cavernous expanse of the ceiling above.

The servant's halls consisted of two large rooms, one for men and one for women, with small beds stacked in rows along the walls. Already, there was a bustling crowd of occupants dressed in various modes and colors of uniform. There were no decorations or partitions to speak of, and the footman had not been lying when he described them as a 'very long way' away. Even walking at normal pace Thomas imagined it would take an inordinately long amount of time to travel between the two, not to mention the fact that the Crawley's had no way of alerting himself or Sarah should they need their services outside of pre-planned times.

'No bloody way.' He said, shaking his head as he looked over the men's room from the door.

Sarah shot him a warning look, making a show of picking up her case and entering the ladies dormitory without a fuss.

Thomas stared after her angrily, having sincerely hoped that the earlier venom she had directed at the footman might be re-applied at that moment for both their benefit.

'Sir…?' Said the footman, clearly itching to get away.

'This won't do.' Said Thomas.

The footman looked around, as though expecting some miracle to deliver him from Thomas's piercing gaze, completely at a loss for what to do.

'I can't…It's not up to me.' He eventually said desperately.

'Then who is responsible?' Thomas demanded.

'Well, I…I suppose that would be Mister Steerpike, Sir.' The man replied desperately.

'Then take me to him.' Said Thomas retrieving his suitcase off the floor, unwilling to leave it lying round in the company of quite so many strangers.

'But it's…'

'I have no doubt that it is also a 'long way'. But your schedule is not my concern.' Thomas said, his eyes full of warning.

The footman looked close to tears, but consented to lead Thomas away down the corridor.

As he had done on the way in, Thomas kept careful track of each corridor that they passed (insomuch as it was possible to keep track of nondescript monotonous dusty passages) along the way. This was partly because the man leading him looked as though he were about to keel over at any moment, and Thomas did not savor the idea of being lost within the unnerving expanse of the castle.

The sound of wood scraping over stone attacked their ears when the two men entered the Great Hall. They were greeted with the sight of a large group of men shunting around benches and tables. They were more simply attired than the purple coated footmen, and younger, and were moving considerably faster. This could have been due to their youth but, as Thomas's eyes reached the raised platform at the far end of the hall, he fancied that the man who stood glowering above them, overseeing the work, was probably the more likely reason.

Thomas had never set much store by the idea of auras, except as a concept to torment and entertain the younger and more impressionable staff at Downton, but there was something unmistakably dark about the man. The expression on his face was stern and unamused, but not excessively so, and Thomas was at something of a loss as to explain how the man managed to radiate such an air of authority and warning.

Catching sight of Thomas and the footman, he jumped smoothly off of the platform and quickly weaved his way through the workers towards them.

Thomas suddenly wished he had asked the footman precisely what rank this 'Mister Steerpike' actually was. He was reasonably confident that he would not cause offence by addressing him as such, but had no idea whether or not he could safely employ rudeness in his demands regarding the problems with the accommodation without risking a diplomatic catastrophe.

A quick sweep of Steerpike's clothes and hair did nothing to help him. He was clad largely in black, like Thomas, and had the same stiff white collar, but that was where the similarity ended. The straight-cut tails of his jacket reached mid-thigh length, and the shiny boots he wore reached to just below his knees, quite unlike any uniform Thomas was familiar with. Although, he had to admit, that he had not seen any uniform he was familiar with since entering the castle. He had presumed the footman's rank purely because of the functions he saw him performing. The clothes Steerpike wore were relatively modern compared to the cut of the footman's coat, which would not have looked out of place in Regency Period England (something of a step-up from the medieval garb the spectators outside the castle had been wearing, although not by much), but still sufficiently alien to defy interpretation.

He judged him to be somewhere between his own age and Jimmy's, not that age was any help in determining rank in this particular place given the methuselan age of the footman at his side. The straight brown hair which reached his shoulders  _would_  have been a clue (given that Thomas dimly recalled from the history books that long hair was generally a sign of greater authority) if he hadn't already seen the comparatively short hairstyle of the Earl earlier that day.

'What seems to be the problem?' Steerpike said pleasantly as he reached them.

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but somehow the footman jumped in first.

'It's about the servant's accommodation, Mister Steerpike.' He said in his grating voice.

'I see.' Steerpike directed his eyes towards Thomas, his manner suddenly less pleasant as he waited for confirmation that Thomas was in fact a servant rather than one of their noble guests.

'Mr Barrow.' Thomas gave a small nod as he introduced himself. 'Under-Butler to His Lordship, the Earl of Grantham.'

If Steerpike found any of this information impressive he certainly gave no sign. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, inclining his head upwards rather than downwards in order to do so. His head came to rest in a slightly elevated position, allowing him to somewhat look down his nose at Thomas.

Thomas noted this with a slight grimace, again wishing he had established precisely what the position of this man was before committing to confronting him.

Thomas swallowed nervously before continuing.

'In order to properly conduct our duties, myself and Lady's Maid Miss O'Brien require accommodation closer to the Crawley Family's rooms.'

'And you feel that your case merits special treatment when no other staff members have made such a request?' Said Steerpike in a voice tinged with a slight hint of amusement.

'With respect, Mr Steerpike, the guests here appear to come from all over the world. My manner of tending to my Master may well be unique under these circumstances.' Thomas replied.

Steerpike's eyes opened ever so slightly wider in surprise at Thomas having been able to provide a response, never mind such a legitimate one.

But he was not the least bit thrown.

'I fail to see why you believe it will be possible to accommodate  _your_  request given that we are currently in the midst of accommodating precisely three hundred and thirty seven noble guests and almost three times as many serving staff. I suggest you awaken earlier in the morning in order to reach your Master on time. Now if there is nothing else, I will bid you good-day. As you can see, I am very busy.' Said Steerpike levelly, the amusement still evident on his face.

Right on cue, two of the teams of men behind him managed to collide two tables together as they were shunting them across the room.

With a curt smile, Steerpike gave a small bow and turned on his heel to attend to the chaos that had erupted behind him.

Thomas felt his cheeks coloring and desperately searched for some way to regain a little dignity.

'Interesting name…'Steerpike'…isn't it?' He called. Steerpike turned round abruptly. 'Does it have a meaning, or does it simply mean 'bull-fish'?' He said, speaking as pleasantly as though he were speaking to Lord Grantham.

For a split second Steerpike's lips pursed and his nostrils flared before his default look of neutrality tinged with amusement resettled.

'I'm sure I ought to be jealous of the multiple meanings of your own name.' Said Steerpike, equally pleasantly. 'Who ever thought that the same word could be applied to both a burial mound and a juvenile castrated pig?'

Thomas couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. He hadn't been aware of the second meaning of his surname and made a mental note to look it up at the earliest opportunity, although by the way the movers in the room were suddenly snickering he had a horrible feeling that Steerpike spoke the truth.

'Get back to work!' Steerpike loudly ordered over his shoulder before turning back to speak to Thomas in a hushed but mischievous voice. 'Depressingly, this is the most intelligent conversation I've had in a while. Thank you,  _Mr Barrow_.' He said before dismissing him with a wave of his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

The servant's dinner that evening was that all too common culinary marvel of utterly bland food that somehow managed to leave a strong and nasty aftertaste. Despite the powerful hunger brought on by the long journey that day, both Thomas and Sarah found themselves unable to clear their plates.

They had walked the long journey back to the servant's quarters together, having finished preparing the Crawleys for the evening's festivities at the same time. Thomas had hoped to get away ahead of Sarah. Unfortunately, due to the necessity of asking Robert if he wouldn't mind Thomas storing some of his personal effects safely in the family room (Thomas was damned if he was going to leave anything but the bare minimum sitting around in the servant's dormitory), his escape was somewhat delayed. This had the end result of Thomas and Sarah browsing the uninspiring buffet laid out for the servants together when they reached the hall. The complete lack of a seating plan (or the  _apparent_  lack of a seating plan) had them taking up positions opposite one another on the nearest long table.

The issue of precedence seemed to have completely flow the coup as far as the servant's hall was concerned.

Although, as he tried to force himself to eat some of the congealed slop on his plate, Thomas had to admit the hosts had most likely made the correct choice. In a hall full of personal manservants and maids from various countries (and by extension, different cultures) he didn't fancy their hosts chances of being able to disentangle relative rank without severely offending at least some of those present. Clearly the concept of 'sit where you please' was familiar to some of their fellow servants anyway.

The gentlemen who surrounded himself and Sarah seemed entirely unperturbed by the arrangement (or by the fact that Sarah and Thomas had sat themselves in the middle of their group) and, more remarkably, were wolfing down the food with enthusiasm. The bright cottons that the men wore were reasonably similar in cut to the long and tent-like garment that the member of Gormenghast staff who was overseeing the servant's dinner was wearing, although their skin had a far darker tinge to it and they spoke enthusiastically in a language quite unlike any that Thomas or Sarah had heard before.

Thomas supposed he ought to be more enthusiastic about the opportunity to observe the strange microcosm of disparate cultures on display in the servant's hall, but the exertion of the day had sapped his energy. The realisation that his only chance of rest would come in the form of sleeping in a room full of excitable foreigners did nothing to help his mood.

'And here was me thinking  _you_  had the monopoly on cheekbones.'

Thomas looked up from his plate in surprise as his ears picked out the drawling tones of Sarah O'Brien within a sea of incomprehensible babble.

He frowned, waiting for her to explain the statement when he noticed her staring at something behind him. Turning round, his eyes instantly came to rest on the figure of Steerpike standing at the far end of the hall in conversation with the member of staff who was overseeing the meal. He stood out strongly as the only person clad predominantly in black and grey (save Thomas and Sarah) within the entire room. Thomas's eyes lingered on his face for a moment, his trepidation and anger having somewhat clouded his perception earlier that day, deciding instantly that the bone structure Sarah seemed to find quite so remarkable was due to malnourishment rather than any natural blessing.

Thomas's lip curled, but he endeavored to turn back to his unappetising food with an expression of absolute disinterest.

'His name's Steerpike.' He said, taking a small pleasure in the chance to get one over on Sarah in terms of superior knowledge.

'Oh I see…first contact has already been established, has it?'

Thomas had no doubt that a cruel smile was currently playing across her face although he refused to look up from his plate, he could  _hear_ it in her voice…and it set his pulse thundering.

'Thankfully he's an arrogant bastard.' Thomas replied attempting to conceal the degree to which Sarah was getting to him with a hint of humor; while clutching the spoon in his hand so hard his fingernails penetrated the skin of his palm.

Sarah knew him well enough to see straight through it.

'Well I always said you had a type…' She whispered.

With a sharp clang, Thomas slammed the spoon in his hand down onto the plate in front of him.

Sarah jumped slightly. Although she rapidly recovered.

Thomas waited until the curious faces of the men around them had turned back to their own meals before leaning across to speak.

'Miss O'Brien…' He suppressed small shivers of anger as he glared at her.

'…Don't'. He concluded simply.

The answering look was defiantly confident, but Thomas was pleased to note the unmistakable touch of fear and surprise behind her eyes.

He lingered for a moment, staring back at her in silence, to ensure the message had got through, before rising to leave.

Sarah watched him go with a feeling of deep unease, suddenly becoming aware her own pulse hammering in her throat.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the evening was an equally uncomfortable and frustrating affair. As he had helped Robert change into his night clothes he was treated to a barrage of complaints about Gormenghast and it's occupants. Robert's main issue seemed to be with the volume of attendees, which seemed to hurt his pride (given that he had travelled quite so far for the 'honor' of being received at the celebrations). Thomas didn't have the heart, or the energy, to point out that there were most likely no more than three or so noble families per country had been invited for Titus's coming of age ceremonies…and  _that_ was quite an exclusive guest list in his own eyes.

Thomas's ears did prick up in interest when Robert started to speak on the possibility of leaving Gormenghast before the planned departure date, but as he then proceeded to list the manifold reasons why that was a complete impossibility ('couldn't credibly claim to have received urgent news…there are no telephones', 'would be considered a rude gesture', 'the Groans  _are_ family, after all', 'arranging the return journey ourselves would be far too complicated'…..) Thomas felt himself somewhat zoning out from the conversation.

Thomas comforted himself with the knowledge that Sarah was most likely listening to a similar barrage of complaints in Lady Mary's room next door, which was also doubling up as a dressing room for Cora. Both women had looked highly unimpressed with the evening's frivolities (whatever they had been) when he had bumped into them on their way back from the Great Hall. (Thomas had taken it upon himself to wander the corridors following his brief altercation with Sarah to allow his pent up anger to dissipate, and took pride in the fact that this move had accidently led to him arriving for his duties at precisely the right moment. Sarah didn't appear for another half an hour, by which time the ladies' mood had no doubt deteriorated further.)

The occupants of the room were every bit as loud and excitable as Thomas had expected them to be. One look at the washroom facilities and Thomas immediately concocted a plan to use the Crawley's washroom the next morning (after they had been safely sent to breakfast) rather than conduct the intimacies of his daily routine in a facility that would not have looked out of place in ancient Rome. There was also the annoying development that the man in the bed adjacent to him had kicked up something of a momentous fuss when Thomas had begun to smoke a cigarette. Thomas had reasoned that in such a large hall (and given the various standards of personal hygiene present) that a cigarette could cause little offence, but the gentleman next door made it clear with his gestures (as he was unable to speak English) that offence had been well and truly given.

With a sigh Thomas had traipsed out into the corridor, at that point so out of sorts as to not care that he would be essentially standing in a public thoroughfare in his pyjamas, and made a mental note to find himself a better smoking location for the following evening as he took a much needed taste of the cigarette.

Thomas achieved sleep that night through exhaustion alone.

The next morning the servants were informed over breakfast that the gift-giving and informal greeting ceremony (Thomas couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at the need for the Earl to greet his guests for a  _third_  time) would take place that day, and that the servants were expected to be well turned out for the ceremony.

Thomas had sat some way away from Sarah during the meal, but a brief glance at her face showed that she was just as confused as he was by the news that the staff were expected to be in attendance.

'What's that about?' He said hopefully to the blond man in a blue blazer that was sitting next to him.

'Ah…English?' The man replied with a thick French accent and a broad smile.

Thomas nodded, disinclined to break out the limited French he had learned during the war.

The man leaned in as though telling Thomas a great secret.

'We carry the gifts to the hall, for our Masters and Mistresses.' He said.

'Oh, right!' Said Thomas, the penny dropping. 'Heaven forbid they could carry their own parcels

Later that day, Thomas couldn't help but make the wry observation that the Gormenghast interpretation of an 'informal greeting' was somewhat different to his own. The ceremony required the guests to all be lined up in a strict order and received at the high platform with all the pomp that one would expect to find at a meeting with the King at Buckingham Palace. He couldn't help but laugh at the contrast between the ceremony unfolding before him and the haphazard way that the servants' quarters were organised.

He wondered if perhaps the difference was down to the two men he could see on the platform, standing slightly to the side of the Earl and his guards. He recognised Steerpike instantly, stood stiff as a board with a small walking cane now tucked under his arm, beside the hunched bearded man that had announced them on their arrival. The bearded man was clearly in charge of the proceedings, making all the announcements and giving all the orders to keep the flow of guests and gifts progressing. Thomas mused that Steerpike must be the man's assistant, and clearly cared more for the matters concerning the nobles than he did for the servants. Thomas wondered absently if he ought to bring his complaints about the accommodation to the bearded man, not because he expected anything to actually be done given the far more pressing matters at hand, but because such an action  _may_ cause some additional stress for Steerpike if it resulted in a ticking off from his boss at having offended a guest.

He quickly dismissed the notion as absurd and unnecessarily risky on his part given that he still had no confirmation of the staff hierarchy within the castle…and that acting on personal vendettas had never failed to backfire on him in the past.

Thomas swept his eyes over the hall in amusement. Despite the sentiments that had run through his mind the previous evening, he couldn't deny that the organisers  _had_ somewhat over extended themselves on the guest list, with some of the guests being forced to queue up through the door and out into the corridor as the lines of people gradually processed towards the platform to discard their gifts before moving away to the drinks tables in the adjacent hall.

He noted uncomfortably that the reason that servants were expected to be present to carry the gifts was clearly in anticipation of far larger gifts than the Crawleys had brought. Robert and Cora certainly looked uncomfortable at the size and suspected opulence of the gifts being carried by other groups, shielded by delicate fabric wrappings, around them. Mary on the other hand almost seemed to be taking pleasure in the ridiculousness of the entire situation. The discomfort and strangeness of Gormenghast, rather than deepening her grief, seemed to be unexpectedly providing her with a much needed opportunity to indulge the long-dormant scathing side of her nature…apparently a more effective balm for her grief than luxury and happiness…as she looked round at the surrounding nobles with disdain. Neither Thomas nor Sarah were entirely convinced, nor for that matter were Robert and Cora, but if there was one enduring aspect of Mary's character that they all appreciated, it was that she marched to nobodies drum but her own.

Thomas turned the small paper-wrapped package over in his hands. He wasn't particularly worried about the paltriness of their offerings; he had a feeling that Titus, who looked every bit as weary and bored as he had the previous day from his position on yet another ornately carved throne, couldn't give less of a toss about any of the gifts that were being presented to him.

'Ingrate.' Hissed Sarah, following his gaze up to the Earl.

Thomas didn't bother to acknowledge her, but he silently protested on Titus's behalf. He couldn't imagine anything more tedious than the brief arrival ceremony the previous day, or the ceremony he was currently stuck waiting for in a long line of disgruntled nobles, and  _he_ was able to escape once his part was done. Titus obviously had no such luxury.

When the time finally came to give Titus the gifts from the Crawley's, Thomas and Sarah somewhat sheepishly offered the small boxes to the waiting guards. The guards looked perplexed by the paper wrapping, but began to tear into the gifts.

'I'll do it.' Titus suddenly said in a voice that seemed entirely too clear and noble for his dull appearance. He was clearly somewhat excited by the prospect of a gift whose purpose was not immediately apparent.

The guards reacted with surprise, but consented to place the two small packages on his lap as the Crawley party stood nervously on the steps of the platform as Titus removed the paper to uncover two wooden boxes.

'Oh…' Titus let out a soft gasp as he opened one of them. He raised the silver snuff box contained within to his eye-line to get a better look at the image on it's lid. 'What is this place?' He said to Robert in wonder.

It was the most attention Titus had paid to any gift thus far, and Robert could not resist preening slightly as he replied.

'That is the image of the Houses of Parliament in London, England.'

'Is this where you're from?' Said Titus, staring at the tiny painted building as though he had never before seen something so marvelous.

'We Crawleys hail from the North of England, not far from where the old English Parliament sat at York many centuries ago.' Said Robert with a smile. 'I am given to understand that our own shared ancestor was part of that gathering.'

Thomas couldn't help but notice that the bearded man was starting to fidget. Thomas suppressed a smile at the man's clear discomfort at the break in flow of the ceremony. Steerpike was doing a better job of hiding his disapproval of the turn of events, but Thomas was still able to spot the exasperation in the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest.

'Thank you.' Titus said softly, still brandishing the snuff box.

'You are most welcome. I hope you are equally pleased with the other.' Said Robert, nodding towards the second box.

Titus beamed at him as he opened the second box. The expression on his face was equally awed by it's contents as it had been for the first box.

But as Titus opened his mouth, no doubt to enquire as to the image on the second snuff box, the bearded man very pointedly cleared his throat.

'We must talk later.' Said Titus quickly to Robert, who managed a brief bow before the Crawleys were herded away from the platform.

The young Earl was as good as his word, doing his best to make a beeline for the Crawleys as soon as he was released several hours later to partake in the drinks. Despite the best efforts of Steerpike, who was sent to accompany the Earl on his social rounds due to the infirmity of his Master, Titus managed to bypass the majority of other guests to greet Robert enthusiastically.

The women in the room, including Cora, Mary and Sarah, had retreated to a corner of the hall which had become (whether by design or accident) the 'ladies' corner' so Thomas and Steerpike were left alone to exchange dark glances in silence as the two Earls began to speak.

'I am so glad you liked the gift, dear boy.' Said Robert. Thomas suppressed a smirk at Robert's enduring belief that the two of them were absolutely the same rank (despite the rather obvious crown upon Titus's head) and that by virtue of age, he in fact had superiority.

While Steerpike bristled slightly, Titus gave no sign of displeasure.

'Very much so!' Said Titus. 'I know very little of the world, and drawings and paintings always seem to show so much more than descriptions in books.'

'Well now you have a little of England and a little of America to keep with you.' Replied Robert.

'America.' Said Titus, sounding the word out slowly. 'That's where the other building was from? I know nothing of America.'

'America is the country where my wife hails from.' Said Robert warmly. 'We in England have a special affinity for the country. The image on the box is of the President's house, they call it the 'White House'.'

'It looks beautiful.' Said Titus.

'Nothing compared to the size and longevity of your abode here!' Said Robert, sensing the perfect opportunity for a sycophantic segue.

'Indeed…' Steerpike suddenly cut in. '…for I believe it has been scarcely a hundred and twenty or so years since the completion of the White House while the only part of Gormenghast so young is the gilding on the clock tower.' The words spilled well over the acceptable boundary between accepting praise and unwarranted aggrandising, especially for a servant.

Robert was taken somewhat aback and Titus looked deeply embarrassed at Steerpike's speech.

Sensing the tension between Steerpike and Titus growing, Robert endeavored to make light of Steerpike's response (and draw Thomas into the conversation for support).

'Ah, Mr Barrow here is something of a clock aficionado. I'm sure he would be delighted to hear more about it!'

Thomas fantasized about the possibility of strangling Robert with his own tie.

'You should show him!' Titus added triumphantly, seizing upon the opportunity created by Robert and making no secret of his delight at the potential for extracting himself from Steerpikes supervision.

Within the confines of his head Thomas swore  _very_ loudly.

One look at Robert's face showed he was equally pleased with the prospect of getting rid of Steerpike, although he at least shot Thomas a small look of apology.

'But, Your Lordship, Barquentine…' Steerpike began, refusing to meet Thomas's gaze.

'Will be glad to hear you have rendered a good service to my guests.' Titus reproached him in a cold voice that spoke of confidence well beyond his years (although, Thomas suspected it was more born out of his clear distaste for the man beside him).

Thomas fancied he could see a blush creeping across Steerpike's cheeks as he bowed stiffly to Titus and Robert before motioning reluctantly for Thomas to follow him out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

The heels of Steerpike's boots and Thomas's shoes clicked in unison down the stone passageway as they left the Great Hall.

Thomas waited until they had turned the corner before speaking.

'Look, I don't relish the prospect of your company…' Said Thomas. '…nor, for that matter, does the young Earl apparently.' He said smoothly, unable to resist a sly grin. 'But I care even less about the idea of wandering round a clock-tower. Intricate metal-workings are my area of interest, not clumsy cogs the size of a person, so I propose that you direct us to an outside location where I can have a much needed smoke and I promise to wax lyrical about your precious clock-tower to the others when we head back in. How's that?'

'You suggest I disobey the orders of the Earl of Groan in order to do  _you_  a favor?' Said Steerpike in a neutral voice as he kept up a speedy pace, forcing Thomas to skip slightly to keep up. ' _That_  is ridiculous.'

'Actually, I seem to recall the orders of Earl were predicated on your rendering 'good service' to his guests…he was less specific on the details.' Said Thomas, in as patronising a voice as he could muster. 'And as one of the aforementioned 'guests' I am telling you I would rather be taken outside than taken to the clock-tower.'

Steerpike stopped walking. He stared at the floor while giving the cane under his arm a quick swing round his wrist and through his fingers, apparently lost in thought for a moment. With a flourish, he returned the cane to it's original position under his arm.

His face was blank when he turned to look at Thomas.

'Very well. ' He said with a slight bow.

They walked in silence, Thomas barely keeping pace with Steerpike's strides, which had become more purposeful, through the bare yellow stone walls of corridor after corridor.

Thomas very nearly dozed off with the monotony of the scenery and thus was unduly fascinated when upon being led through a side door, the walls suddenly turned dark and grey-green in color. This fascination with the changing color of the walls was particularly unfortunate under the circumstances as it gave Steerpike more than adequate time to double back, exit the room, slam, and lock, the door behind him.

'Hey!' Thomas shouted, launching himself back towards the door to give an ineffective thump to the thick wood.

Instinct forced him to attempt to open the door, although he was absolutely certain he had just heard the sound of a key in the lock.

On the other side of the wood, he heard Steerpike give a satisfied laugh.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' Shouted Thomas, almost choking on the dust clouds that his frantic activities had kicked up into the air.

'I've got things to be attending to.' Called Steerpike through the door. 'You can just sit tight in there. I'll let you out in a few hours. I suggest you learn some respect by the time I return. Oh…and if I were you I wouldn't wander about. You'll starve before you find you own way out through those rooms.'

Thomas stared incredulously at the locked door, not quite able to believe what had just happened, as the sounds of Steerpike's footsteps echoed away down the corridor outside.

'He's bloody mad.' Thomas said quietly to himself. 'A goddamn lunatic!'

Directing insults towards Steerpike only served to distract Thomas from the situation at hand for so long.

He gingerly turned round, his back pressed against the wood of the door, to survey the room.

The differing color of the stones, the thick moss covering, and the curtain-like trails of cobwebs silently whispered to Thomas that he had passed into a forgotten and far more ancient part of the castle. The air was cold and stale. The only light came from slitted windows that were high up in the wall, the wooden floors which had once allowed people to look out of them at the appropriate height had long since rotted away.

The only available exits were three door-less and utterly pitch black cavities, one for each wall, the menacing sight of which instantly reduced Thomas to a cowering child as his breaths echoed in the hollow expanse of the room.

He was suddenly irrationally and completely terrified.

Alone in the shadows, while nursing the fear that he was somehow  _not_ alone, Thomas felt as though he had somehow left the real world and landed straight into the pages of a Gothic horror story.

He did his best to regain some measure of control by chastising himself at behaving so foolishly, trying to ignore the errant tear that had somehow escaped to run down his cheek for the sake of his pride.

'What's to be done?' He mouthed the words, rather than saying them out loud, unwilling to make unnecessary sound just in case something or someone were to be lurking in one of the adjacent rooms.

He shivered involuntarily and wracked his brains.

Raising his shaky hands to his mouth in thought, his forearm brushed against the small package in his jacket.

With a sense of titanic relief, Thomas reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve a couple of the mini screwdrivers and pin-pushers from the clock-makers tool kit that he had mercifully remembered to replace in his jacket that morning. He was no master lock-breaker by any standard, but if the lock in the door was as old as it looked he reasoned he had a fair chance of tricking the mechanism into letting him out.

Eagerly he dropped to his knees, not giving a second thought to the dust and dried insects that littered the floor, and reached to insert the first pin, thankful that Steerpike had removed the key from the lock.

He stopped abruptly and turned to look over his shoulder.

Nothing in the room had changed.

He turned back to the lock, vowing to give it his full attention.

Seconds later he glanced over his shoulder again for absolutely no discernible reason.

'Don't be stupid.' He forced himself to say out loud.

He was instantly compelled to turn around on his knees and survey the stillness of the room once more.

Shaking his head in frustration at his own silliness, Thomas used every ounce of willpower to keep his attention fixed on the lock and maneuvering the mechanism within. Finally there was a telltale clunk and 'give'; heralding his success.

Thomas began to hyperventilate in the split second it took him to get off his knees, wrench the door open, and get through it, utterly convinced that something had taken the opportunity to creep up and was going to grab him from behind should he linger a moment longer.

As soon as he was safely back in the bright yellow stoned corridor outside the notion seemed utterly absurd.

He made it a few steps down the corridor, trusting his memory to guide him back to the Great Hall, before pausing to think.

An evil grin crept across his face as he quickly went back and spent a couple of minutes re-locking the door.

As he was about to rise from crouching on the floor, he noticed his dusty knees.

Raising his eyebrows at the awkward recognition of the interpretation a certain loathsome person was likely to hint at should he return to the hall with dirty knees, Thomas quickly brushed himself down before rising to continue on his way.

He had intended to attempt to approach the bearded man or Titus on his return to the Great Hall, but in the end decided that the story sounded rather far-fetched (even to himself, now that he had been extracted from the situation) and contented himself by remarking favorably on the clock-tower when he re-joined the Crawleys.

The look on Steerpike's flustered and slightly be-cobwebbed face when he returned in a panic to the Great Hall many hours later was more than enough compensation for his pains.

Steerpike hurried over to the bearded man, as though with urgent news to deliver, before stopping dead upon catching sight of Thomas.

Thomas raised the goblet in his hands in a mock toast, regarding Steerpike's flummoxed expression with amusement.

Thomas dimly recalled his own thoughts from when he had opened the door to the shed that  _should_  have contained Isis, and his grin broadened at the thought of how such panic must have been magnified a hundred fold when Steerpike realised that  _he_  had gone missing.

He made a mental note to quiz him later about the story he was going to give the bearded man regarding the strange disappearance of the guest in his charge.


	7. Chapter 7

Thomas couldn't escape ahead of Sarah that evening as they both wound up putting the finishing touches to the nightly routine in Robert and Cora's room as Mary had insisted she be left alone as swiftly as possible, citing exhaustion.

They walked in stern and uncomfortable silence for the majority of the way back to the servant's quarters.

Thomas paused when Sarah took the opposite turning that he had expected her to, heading off in a direction actually leading  _away_  from the servant's quarters.

Curiosity got the better of animosity.

'Our rooms are the other way.' He said, pointing to the left.

Sarah turned. 'If you must know, I'm heading to the front courtyard. She said in clipped tones. 'It seems to be the only place a lady can have a quiet smoke in this establishment.'

Thomas nodded in spite of himself, recalling his own frustrations of the previous days.

'I don't suppose I could…?' He began.

Sarah turned on her heel and walked on, neither offering nor denying him permission to join her.

As they stepped out into the courtyard Thomas was surprised at the immense sense of relief that washed over him at finally being able to see the sky. The ceilings of the halls and rooms of Gormenghast may be high, but they carried with them an unmistakable sense of claustrophobia and crushing envelopment.

The stars were crystal clear, save for the obscuring effect of the odd rising plume of smoke from the chimneys, and Thomas was relieved to note that the air was fairly crisp and pleasant. He gave a slight laugh at the notion that Gormenghast somehow cultivated it's own favorable micro-climate rather than accept the putrid air of the salt-marsh or dank air of the boulder fields.

Sarah glanced at him as he laughed, but quickly looked away without commenting.

In unison they lit their cigarettes, took the first drag, and looked awkwardly up at the sky from their position at the side of the court yard.

The silence was intensely awkward.

At the moment where they both sighed deeply at the same time, Thomas was moved by the situation to offer a little something by way of conversation for old times' sake.

'So what do you think of an Earl in a crown then?' He said.

Sarah glanced at him in surprise.

'Well…I suppose, I think that it is a good thing that I thought to bring Their Ladyships' tiaras.' She said, her voice becoming more recognisible and confident as she spoke. 'His Lordship must be feeling terribly left out.'

Thomas smirked at the thought of Robert in a crown. 'Yes, I suppose he must be.'

There it was again; the excruciating silence.

Both of them knew what desperately needed addressing.

Thomas cracked first.

'Do you regret it?' He said, his posture suddenly awkward as he focused on kicking at the dust on the courtyard paving stones.

'What, precisely, are you asking if I regret?' Sarah eventually replied.

'What you did to me.' Said Thomas quietly, a barely perceptible catch in his voice.

'I don't know about that.' She said levelly. 'But you certainly made me regret what I did  _for_  you.'

'How'd you mean?' Thomas glanced up, confused by her response.

Sarah inhaled deeply on her cigarette, breathing a long stream of smoke out towards the night's sky.

When she eventually spoke her voice sounded as though she were compelled to force each and every word out of her mouth. 'Can you honestly name one person in your life…' She paused to swallow a lump that had risen in her throat. '…who has done more for you than I have?'

Thomas was less taken aback by her words than he was by the rare appearance of emotion, evident in both her voice and expression.

'I don't…I don't suppose so.' He said slowly.

'Let's go through the list, shall we?' She said shakily. 'When everyone in the house decided they preferred William to you, who was always on your side? When His Lordship hired a cripple to take over a job you were already doing, who always supported you? Who helped you when you were being accused of stealing? Who wrote to keep you informed while you were away in the trenches? Who kept your spirits up? Who got you a position managing Downton when you returned to England? Who helped you convince His Lordship to finally give you the position of Valet? Who has known from day one what you are and has never judged you for it when  _thousands_  would?' Sarah had well and truly worked her way into a frenzy by the time she reached the last sentence and briefly sank against the wall, hand to her chest, to calm her breathing.

Thomas, roused into an agitated state himself, cut in. 'But what you did…'

'No!' Sarah shouted, shocking him into silence. 'What you did, Mr Barrow, what  _you_  did!'

Thomas stared at her as she resumed her attempts to settle her ragged breaths.

'I'm not a good person, Mr Barrow, and I've never claimed to be. But if there's one thing I can say for myself, it's that I make it my business to understand and help those who get overlooked by others. And you…you I've looked after more than anyone.' Sarah's accent thickened almost to the point of becoming incomprehensible as she became more irate. 'Now I always knew you were selfish, arrogant, prideful…Lord knows I saw enough of it while you were managing Downton…but I always thought that somewhere in your self-centered world there was at least some respect for me, for what I've done for you. Then I ask you for one thing,  _one thing_ , for the benefit of my own flesh and blood…a favor that costs you absolutely  _nothing_ …and you refuse, most high handedly you refuse. More than that, you make every effort to put him down, to cause him to make mistakes, you…' Sarah's voice cut out entirely. If Thomas didn't know any better he would say she was close to tears.

'Well I…I never thought about it, not like that...before.' Thomas stumbled nervously over his words, more than a little thrown. 'But you're still a vicious bitch.' He added with conviction as he threw away the spent butt of his cigarette.

'Do you hear me denying that?' Sarah said, staring out across the courtyard as she discarded her own cigarette. 'But I'll admit it was never meant to go this far, and it wouldn't have done if you hadn't threatened my position first.'

'You know your job was never under serious threat.' Thomas replied, his eyes vacant as he also looked across the courtyard.

'Shows how little you know.' Sarah said. 'A Lady's Maid can rarely survive losing the confidence of her Mistress.'

'Well you did, so I don't see why…'

'Of course you don't. You believe it's the world's duty to accommodate you whatever you do, to forgive you whatever you do…despite your compulsion to cause misery and trouble for everyone around you who won't bow to your delusion of superiority, which in case you were unaware, is just about everyone.' She said bitterly.

Thomas ran a hand absently through his hair, grappling with the undeniable truth of his suffering at Sarah's hands, but also the bleak picture Sarah painted of his character.

He was at a complete loss. 'So where do we go from here?' He finally said in a soft voice. 'I mean…we're in the same house, we serve the same family…we can't go on like this.'

'Don't you  _dare_  suggest reconciliation after what you've done!' Sarah hissed at him, again startling him with the voracity of her unexpected outburst.

'What  _I've_  done?!' Thomas questioned angrily.

'After what you told Mr Bates.'

Thomas didn't need to ask for further clarification, nor did he need to turn his head to know that Sarah's eyes were now boring into the side of his skull.

A world of possible responses ran through his mind.

In the end he realised there was only one way he should answer.

'I didn't, actually.'

'You mean to deny…?'

'No.' Thomas cut her off. 'I mean, all I told him was the phrase…none of the context.'

Sarah let out a shaky gasp, leaning back against the wall again for support.

'That's…that's barbaric.' She eventually said in a breathy voice.

' _That_  was necessary.' Said Thomas reproachfully.

'Oh…but…Oh, thank God!' Said Sarah, giving a small nervous laugh of relief.

'Thank  _me_ …technically.' Thomas said, responding to Sarah's laugh with a brief snort of his own.

They looked at each other and something akin to an understanding, though most definitely not an apology, passed between them.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas wasn't sure whether to be glad or not that staff were, once again, expected to attend the day's planned festivities.

The event was announced as a 'Lake Pageant', from which Thomas deduced two things; firstly, that he ought to make sure both himself and Lord Grantham left the castle with their coats, secondly, that he was going to be able to smoke whenever he pleased.

The later made him immensely happy, and went some way towards compensating him for the unpleasant assault on his taste buds that had constituted breakfast.

He and Sarah walked to the family rooms together; the atmosphere was inevitably awkward following the previous night's outbursts but both noted with relief that the hostility had certainly taken a pleasant reduction.

Mary was waiting at the door, already awake, and pulled it open the instant Sarah knocked. Thomas caught sight of Cora sitting on the side of the bed, making a mental note as he did that it was safe to enter Robert's room, but his eyes were drawn straight back to Mary's surprisingly gaunt appearance. She looked a good few years older than she had the previous day.

Realising he was staring, Thomas quickly bowed and retreated towards the other door to begin dressing Robert.

The Lake Pageant proved to be a highly enjoyable diversion.

From his position high on the stacked wooden seats put in place for the staff, Thomas found he had a glorious view over the whole spectacle.

To the right of the staff seating, a similar unit had been put in place for the nobles (this one with mini-awnings over the seats) although the majority of the nobility were occupying themselves with the refreshments available in the large open tents set up further across the lawn. Set aside from the guests, in a particularly gaudy tent, Thomas could just about make out Titus sitting in the middle of a table. He was accompanied by a group of women, some of whom Thomas had seen before, who he could now surmise were members of the Groan family. There was a matronly (and rather formidable) looking woman sat beside a young woman with wiry black hair to one side of Titus, and to his other side were two women who were dressed identically. Thomas had a feeling that if he were to view them closer he would find them identical in their features as well. A very jolly looking man with a shock of grey hair was standing by the side of the table speaking enthusiastically to the young woman.

The family certainly made a strange group, especially in that none of them (save the grey-haired man who, by his more humble attire, was most likely  _not_ family) were actually acknowledging one another's presence in any way.

Thomas wrinkled his nose a little at the spots of rain which landed on his face but, despite threatening rain all morning, the sky was only really delivering a light and quite refreshing drizzle. It had the added bonus of making colors of the day that much more vivid, especially the green grass which appeared almost luminous in the hint of damp.

Looking up ahead, across the lake, Thomas's high vantage point allowed him a sneak preview of some of the barges that remained concealed behind large canvas screens until it was their turn to process.

He had no doubt that the bundles of incense being burned, the bright stones, the carvings and the varying colored cloths atop the barges had some deep ritualistic significance (he could see the bearded man, apparently Master of Ceremonies, directing the procession from his small tent, to the left of the staff seating, with the use of small boys running to and fro to a fire-signaler at the side of the lake) but he was content to simply enjoy the richness of the spectacle. He learnt to zone out the booming voice of the announcer as each barge floated past.

There were a few minor issues during the pageant; the most obvious and amusing of which occurred when a barge clearly emerged from it's screen out of order, and then managed to crash into an adjacent barge while attempting to return to it's post.

At that moment Thomas turned to look and see how the Master of Ceremonies was taking this development. He burst into fits of giggles at the sight of the hunched man flailing and shouting in exasperation, even going so far as to knock his table over (mercifully the human-lectern was standing a short way away) which sent Thomas completely into hysterics. He was laughing so loudly that several of the other members of staff near him followed his gaze to see what precisely was so amusing. A few of them also began to snicker.

Thomas continued to laugh as the distinctive figure of Steerpike emerged from the side of the tent to attempt to re-right the bearded man's table (something he was clearly unable to do himself if the crutches under his arms were anything to go by, and the human-lectern already had his hands full). Despite the man's continued flailing, Steerpike somehow managed to set the table back on it's legs and to gather up the papers that had fallen all over the grass. As Steerpike placed the papers back on the table, one of the boy runners approached the tent in need of direction to give to the barge conductors. From the turn of their heads Thomas deduced that both Steerpike and the Master of Ceremonies were attempting to give orders to the boy, who seemed to be shaking his head in confusion.

Thomas was gripped by fresh laughter at how absurd the three of them looked, trying to puzzle things out.

The convulsions of laughter abruptly stopped at the sight of the Master of Ceremonies ramming one of his crutches into Steerpike's stomach with such ferocity that Thomas felt his own gut convulse in involuntary sympathy.

'Jesus…' Thomas whispered softly, more than a little surprised that Steerpike had managed to stay on his feet.

He was also a little unsettled that none of the Gormenghast staff near the tent had given even the slightest reaction.


	9. Chapter 9

That night Thomas lingered outside Lord Grantham's door after he had finished dressing (or rather, undressing) him for bed, waiting for Sarah. It was a long time before she emerged from Mary's room, and when she did, she didn't look happy.

'What…?' Thomas began.

Sarah quickly shot him a warning look and motioned that they should start walking down the corridor with a quirk of her head.

Thomas frowned, but consented to begin walking back to the servant's quarters.

'Fancy a smoke before we turn in?' He said, willing to forgo the still tangible awkwardness and lingering suspicion between them for the sake of finally having someone to talk to about the events of the Lake Pageant.

'I can't.' Sarah gruffly replied.

'Eh?'

She stopped walking for a moment, shaking her head. She looked up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone before speaking.

'It's Lady Mary…not that it's strictly your business, but she's asked me to room with her tonight.'

Thomas looked at Sarah in surprise, noting the dim (but still perceptible) sadness in her eyes.

'Bad as all that is it?' Thomas said with a grimace.

'Oh yes.' Said Sarah bitterly. 'She's not well, not really, and that room is like being inside some great tomb. This whole place is a joke that I certainly don't understand, and I don't think she does either, and…and she's missing the baby.' Sarah's voice dropped even lower before she added. 'She's much more of a mother than they give her credit for.'

Thomas nodded silently.

'They never should have brought her out here.' Sarah concluded, pursing her lips in displeasure. She suddenly glanced sideways at Thomas in surprise, astonished in equal measure at Thomas's willingness to listen, and her own willingness to share such sensitive information.

Thomas read her expression perfectly.

'You just look after her.' He said with a small smile.

He didn't go so far as to offer to help with her luggage though, that would have been a step too far for someone who was still looking forward to a night surrounded by boisterous and mostly foul smelling strangers.

As they reached the T-junction in the dusty corridor Sarah headed to the left to collect her possessions, while Thomas went to the right to head out for a smoke.

There was no guard positioned at the inner door that evening, as there had been the day before, but Thomas found that it was a small matter to work out how the overly cumbersome door could be opened. He did briefly wonder if it was safe to leave the castle itself without a guard knowing he was outside, he didn't relish the idea of having to sleep in the yard if he got locked out. But in the end, the sight of the technicolored hazy dusk was enough to compel him to step outside.

The dusk was absolutely stunning. A strange purple and yellow stream that melted into deep blue stretched across the sky above him. Thomas wished he was back out on the stand by the lake; he could only salivate at the thought of how astonishing the view would be from there. Although, from his position in the courtyard, he was enjoying the way that the sandy stones seemed to glow as they reflected the changing light.

Strange, perplexing and infuriating as Gormenghast was proving to be; Thomas had to admit it looked good from the outside.

He wound up having more than one cigarette.

Save for the guards traipsing past just before the last of the sunlight died, he was completely on his own.

Or so it seemed at first.

But as darkness well and truly fell, as he worked his way through his fifth cigarette, Thomas couldn't quite shake the prickly feeling that ran across the nape of his neck that signaled there might be someone else around.

As the feeling deepened, Thomas's mind convinced him that he could hear the odd scraping sound nearby…intermittent and very quiet, like a little pebble falling on slate, and of no obvious source, but somehow definitely  _there_.

Thomas began to strain his ears. Almost fancying he could hear faint breathing.

He gave a snort and mentally berated himself for being so paranoid.

It's not like there was anyone who would bother spying on him. Well, except Sarah, and she was taken care of for the present.

With another snort Thomas called out 'I bloody know you're there!' to the empty courtyard.

'How did you know?'

Thomas almost jumped out of his skin as a highly disgruntled voice called down to him. He stepped back away from the building and squinted up at the darkness past the gutters and to the roof. He couldn't see him, but he knew damn well who the voice belonged to.

There was nothing like the presence of a human he found distasteful to sharpen Thomas's wits, and he recovered from his surprise almost instantaneously.

'How did you know  _I_  would be here?' Thomas called back, making a show of taking a leisurely and utterly unaffected drag on what remained of his cigarette.

Steerpike paused for a moment.

'I heard the guards talking about these strange English people chewing on little white sticks in the courtyard last night…it wasn't a stretch to realise who they were talking about.' The shape of Steerpike's head and shoulders appeared, leaning over the edge of the roof. 'But how did you know I was up here?'

'Didn't…not until you called back.' Thomas said, shooting the dark shadow a highly infuriating smile that he was no doubt would be adequately illuminated by the torches over by the front door.

Thomas was almost certain that he heard Steerpike swear under his breath in response. But he was willing to acknowledge he may have imagined it.

At the sound of distant footsteps behind him, Thomas abruptly turned round. His eyes came to settle on the two guards slowly walking a diagonal path across the courtyard.

When he turned back to glance up at the roof the shape of Steerpike had vanished.

With a shrug, he dropped the cigarette to the floor and stamped it out ready to head back in.

'Walk round to the side.' Steerpike's voice suddenly whispered.

Thomas halted mid-step. He turned back, still unable to see neither hide nor hair of Steerpike. He glanced over his shoulder at the guards, who seemed to be paying him no mind.

'Why?' Thomas whispered back.

'Just…' Steerpike's voice briefly broke off, Thomas presumed he was also taking a moment to re-establish the position of the guards. '…Do it…Please.'

Thomas raised his eyebrows at the last word.

In the end it was curiosity, and the knowledge that he now had no one to talk to in the servant's quarters, that compelled him to follow the instruction.

Shooting one last glance towards the guards, Thomas walked along the wall, away from the main castle entrance. Before he reached the far end of the courtyard there was a sharp corner to the right as the building ended and the stone paving then reached along to the outer wall.

Steerpike's form was visible again, leaning over the side of the roof waiting for him.

'Well…?' Thomas extended his hands briefly in an expression of impatience before dropping them back to his sides.

'Come up here.' Steerpike whispered.

'You expect me to climb up there…With you…Get on a roof with the bloke who bloody locked me up? How stupid do you think I am?'

'Under the circumstances, I'd rather not answer that…I just want to talk to you about what happened the other day, please.'

There it was again, that little word that sounded so alien to Steerpike's melodic but scathing voice.

'Then come down here.' Said Thomas, a little louder than he had intended.

'Shhh.' Steerpike's shadow briefly disappeared as he again checked on the position of the guards.

'Look…' He whispered quickly as he returned. '…you've seen me up here now, so you might as well come up too. If you must know, I need to ask you something. If you like views I can make it worth your while.'

Thomas sighed, he had a feeling he knew exactly what Steerpike wanted to ask and wasn't inclined to answer the question.

'Come on!' Steerpike whispered again urgently, from which Thomas deduced that perhaps the guards were heading back their way.

'Oh, sod it.' Thomas found himself saying. 'How do I do it?'

'There's a set of bricks removed from the wall by the side of that barrel, use the holes as footholds and handholds alternately.'

Thomas was more than a little amused at the idea of Steerpike conducting secret vandalism in order to make one of the fortress buildings into his own personal climbing frame, but he was quickly compelled to turn his attention back to the task at hand. He had a feeling that even in broad daylight he would have trouble getting the 'holds' in the right order, not to mention the fact that his upper body had not had to support his weight since…ever.

It came as no surprise to Thomas when he felt his balance going as his fingers slowly lost their grip on the surprisingly soft bricks ('Shoddy bloody craftsmanship.' He thought to himself). What was more of a surprise was that this didn't happen until he had almost reached the guttering at the top, and by some miracle Steerpike was quick enough to grab him under the shoulder and haul him up.

'HOLY…!'

Steerpike instantly clamped a hand over Thomas's mouth to shut him up as they both fell backwards onto the smooth surface of the shallow gradient, carpeted by large roof tiles.

Thomas angrily batted away Steerpike's hand, but couldn't help but remain still by his side as they both listened out for a sign that the guards had heard the commotion.

Although as to why he should  _actually_  care one way or the other, Thomas had no idea.

'Alright…' Steerpike turned over onto his stomach and began a low crawl up the side of the roof. '…Follow me.'


	10. Chapter 10

When they made it to the point where the roof met the base of the tower flanking the main entrance Thomas followed Steerpike's lead and stood up to carefully circumnavigate the point where the tower projected out of the roof tiles and onto the neighboring ledge which stretched out to the left. The transition from the initial roof to the ledge sent a brief lick of fear up Thomas's spine at the sight of the increased distance to the floor below.

Although Thomas did manage to get both feet onto the ledge without stumbling, his heart rate increased to the point of becoming distracting. Thomas was about to call out to Steerpike as he led the way over the peak of the adjacent roof (something between 'Remind me again why the fuck I'm doing this?' and 'Can I get down now please?') but decided to remain silent and maintain what was left of his dignity when it became apparent that Steerpike didn't intend to lead him any further along the death-defying route.

Steerpike had settled down to sit at the base, where the tiles met the stone ledge, motioning for Thomas to join him.

That side of the roof faced into the slowly increasing moonlight and Thomas momentarily lost himself in the view ahead, awed by the otherworldly quality it gave to the sea of roofs and towers stretching off into the distance; something he expected he would have found an astonishing sight even without the pale glow of the moonlight, or the orange flicker of the hundreds of burning torches which denoted the positions of windows, doors and walkways in the darkness.

'You can see it just as well from down here.' Steerpike said, speaking at normal volume again, motioning for Thomas to join him in sitting down.

Thomas turned his gaze back to Steerpike, having momentarily forgotten his existence, and couldn't help but flinch a little at the highly unflattering way the moonlight cast shadows across the deep hollows of Steerpike's cheeks and eyes, making him appear somewhat corpselike.

Tentatively, Thomas inched his way down the tiles (some of which seemed decidedly looser than others) in order to join him.

'Not that I'm complaining…' Thomas nodded towards the expansive view ahead of them. '…but why here?'

'I need to ask you something, and the sound echoes into the courtyard from the other rooftop.' Steerpike said simply.

'I meant why could you not ask me  _in_  the courtyard?' Said Thomas with a small laugh, sitting down next to him. He made a point of situating himself just far enough away to be out of arm's reach.

Steerpike passed over the question, clearly thinking that the answer would be self-evident once he vocalized his own query.

But something, Thomas suspected 'pride', held him back from speaking for a good while.

'How did you get out?' He said eventually, trying and failing to conceal quite how much the event had rattled him.

'Out from where, Mr Steerpike?' Said Thomas with a wry grin, deciding he might as well fish out another cigarette from his jacket pocket. His amusement at Steerpike's discomfort went some way towards removing his fear of sliding off the roof and over the ledge, but not enough to allow him to mimic the way Steerpike was sitting, with his legs stretched out in front of him. Thomas instead resolved to keep his own legs bent at an angle to allow him to keep pressure on his feet, immobilising himself just in case  _someone_ decided they did in fact want to pitch him off the rooftop…unlikely as the notion seemed.

'You know where.' Steerpike growled back at him, his eyes carefully watching the path of Thomas's hand as he brought the small flame of his lighter up to the cigarette between his lips.

'Not sure that I do…' Thomas mumbled, not bothering to remove the cigarette from his mouth as he spoke. He returned to the task of lighting it, slightly surprised to find his eyes meeting Steerpike's as the latter's gaze shifted momentarily from being transfixed by the flame. 'Did you want one?' Thomas said.

Steerpike blinked before shaking his head. 'It's very important that you tell me, Mr Barrow…Please.'

'You don't often say that word, do you?' Said Thomas with a grin, leaning back a little to rest on his elbows against the slope of the roof.

Steerpike bowed his head in exasperation, hunching his shoulders up as he did so to press his clasped hands against the warmth of his inner thighs. 'You have to tell me.' He said quietly.

'Why?' Thomas redirected his gaze from the buildings below to look up at the sky, thoroughly enjoying himself.

'Because I know Gormenghast better than anyone alive, and I can't see how you did it. And that worries me…If there  _is_  a route out of that part of the castle, I need to know.'

'Oh…' Thomas's grin faded a little. 'So it isn't just curiosity then?'

'No.'

Thomas paused, the cigarette midway to his lips, as his face broke out into another broad grin. 'Can you really not fathom how I did it?' He said.

'No.' Steerpike said again, conveying a momentous amount of agitation within the single brief word.

'You're going to feel like a right idiot.'

'Just tell me.'

'I left the same way I entered…' Thomas took another breath of smoke before continuing. '…through the bloody door.'

'What?' Steerpike said, jutting his head forward in a manner more befitting a five year old than a grown man.

'I picked the lock…and my Mother always taught me to leave things the way I found them, so I made sure to lock it back up again after me.' Thomas said brightly, jauntily flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette.

'You…you picked the lock.' Said Steerpike slowly, equally disbelieving Thomas's ability to do so and his own inability to have actually considered the possibility.

Careful not to bring the lit end of the cigarette too close to his pocket, Thomas reached inside with his spare hand to retrieve the small tool kit. Opening the leather pouch, he tilted it to allow the small implements within to glint in the moonlight. 'They're from my Dad's trade, fixing clocks, but I often find them useful for other things.'

'Well I'll be damned…' Whispered Steerpike, staring at the small tools in wonder.

'Worth dragging me up onto the roof for?' Said Thomas, replacing the kit inside his pocket.

Steerpike snorted. 'That wasn't the initial plan. I was hoping your colleague would turn up at some point...I thought it was likely that what happened the other day would come up in conversation between you.'

'There's not much of anything I'd tell her these days.' Thomas laughed. 'Anyway, she probably won't be able to get away for evening smokes for the rest of the week.'

'Why's that?' Steerpike said, uncoiling from his hunched position to rest back on his elbows like Thomas.

'What makes that any business of yours?' Said Thomas sternly, suddenly remembering who he was talking to.

'It's my job to keep track of the guests.' Steerpike replied.

'Right…Just like it's your job to keep track of furniture, the Earl and the Master of Ceremonies. What  _actually_  is it that you do?' Thomas said snarkily, stubbing out the cigarette on a roof tile before launching it off the roof and into the darkness below.

'I am Assistant to the Master of  _Ritual_ , Barquentine. Everything that concerns the noble house of Groan is under his remit, and consequently under mine.' Said Steerpike, reeling off the information with an air that suggested he had frequent cause to repeat it.

'So…you're like a Manager?'

'Yes.'

Thomas swore loudly in his head.

He had been clinging on to the malicious hope that Steerpike would prove to be of subordinate rank; now that the converse had been confirmed, Thomas made a mental note to avoid providing Steerpike with unequivocal proof to that effect at all costs.

'Well, that's both our curiosities satisfied then.' Said Thomas with a sniff. 'Is that everything?'

'Yes. Thank you, Mr Barrow.' Steerpike said after a brief pause, rising slowly from his position leaning back against the roof.

Thomas declined to offer his own thanks, still more than a little sore from the indignity of having been locked away in a room like a naughty child; regardless of the resulting triumph of his escape.

Thomas stood up as well, running his tongue over his upper lip as his mind briefly travelled back to the events of earlier that day; more specifically, Barquentine's slight over reaction to Steerpike attempting to give instructions to the young runner on his behalf. He wasn't sure if he wanted to 'go there' for the sake of morbid curiosity or for the sake of human kindness, and he wasn't particularly pleased with himself for being unsure on that account. The internal confusion left him standing still and silent for a few moments.

'What is it?' He realised Steerpike was staring at him.

Thomas also realised that he had screwed up his mouth a little while thinking. Relaxing his lips, Thomas decided he really ought to say something.

'Does he often hit you?'

'Barquentine? Yes, he does.' Said Steerpike easily, his expression just as blank and calculating as it had been throughout the majority of their conversation.

Thomas waited for him to continue. He didn't.

'And…' Thomas nervously licked at his lip again. '…Does that upset you…at all?'

'Obviously I'd rather he didn't, but it's of little consequence.' Steerpike replied, no discernible emotion behind his words.

Thomas furrowed his brow, finding it impossible to believe that someone could brush off such treatment as 'of little consequence' and yet somehow certain that Steerpike's feeling (or rather, lack of feeling) about the matter were utterly genuine. 'It's just…you don't seem like the kind of person to accept being treated that way.' Thomas eventually said.

Steerpike gave brief laugh that sounded akin to the noise made by a very creaky door hinge.

'Very perceptive of you.' He said in a voice that sounded genuinely devoid of sarcasm. Thomas would almost have gone so far as to say he could detect a hint of respect.

Thomas was left highly uneasy when Steerpike declined to offer any additional comment.

With a swing of his arm he indicated for Thomas to follow him as they made their way back up over the roof.

They parted ways at the place where Thomas had initially made his way up.

Steerpike didn't linger to watch Thomas climb back down the wall and it was through more luck than judgment (or any kind of skill) that Thomas made it back to ground-level without injury.

He walked slowly back to the servant's quarters feeling somewhat dazed.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning had nobles and staff alike breakfasting on the lawn within the castle grounds rather than the usual halls. The pale white decorations, woven with deep green leaves, gave a fresh look to the proceedings and were a welcome change, at least as far as the Crawleys were concerned, from the headache inducing richness of the spectacles of the previous few days. In fact, as Thomas surveyed the white tents that contained the nobles (from his own position, sitting outside under the already painfully strong sunlight with the rest of the staff) he found the sight highly akin to the familiarity of an English garden party.

The thought made him smile, but not nearly as much as the sight of the large clock tower which loomed over the lawn. He and Steerpike had shared a brief, slightly rueful, nod of acknowledgement (including a pointed sideways glance towards the large clock face) earlier that morning as Thomas had filed out of the castle doors with the rest of the staff.

Thomas briefly left the table to fetch some coffee, served by small boys in white uniforms, from the extensive buffet table that ran almost the entire length of the lawn.

After a brief moments pause, Thomas picked up two cups instead of one.

'I wouldn't want to meet you in a dark alley.' He said as he returned to his seat, pushing the second coffee cup towards Sarah, who was leaning heavily onto her elbow, practically asleep.

The depth of Sarah's exhaustion was apparent in her inability to come back with any kind of retort, but she did manage to extend a hand to accept the offered cup.

Thomas smiled to himself again. His jealousy at being left to sleep in the dormitory style accommodation with the staff, while Sarah got to share in the relative luxury of Lady Mary's room, was instantly extinguished at the first sight of Sarah's haunted and tired face that morning.

Resting his elbows languidly on the table (something he would have never deigned to do, had he not seen several others already doing so) Thomas sipped on the weak coffee and continued to cast his eyes around at the other occupants of the staff tables and the tents beyond.

When the horn was sounded to indicate the conclusion of the meal, the resulting chaos made Thomas very glad that he had grabbed those few moments of relaxation.

The rest of the occupants of the staff tables leapt to their feet, attempting to make a beeline for their Masters and Mistresses, as the Gormenghast staff did their best to reassure them that the order in which people would vacate the tents was pre-planned; and would the other staff  _please_ return to their benches until specifically called.

Thomas and Sarah exchanged a brief glance, neither of them moved from their seats. Both silently agreeing that the Crawleys could be trusted to walk the length of the lawn unaided, and that they would re-join them when they saw them pass by.

Looking over his shoulder to keep an eye out for the Crawleys amid the herd of people all attempting to get back towards the castle in time to dress for yet another event, Thomas's eyes picked out the figure of Steerpike. Seemingly uncharacteristically, he was ignoring the surrounding chaos in order to walk by the side of the young woman with long black hair that Thomas had recognised as a member of the Groan family the previous day. The two of them appeared to be on quite familiar terms. Thomas blinked in surprise to see Steerpike contorting his face into a comically exaggerated expression, apparently for the young ladies amusement. It certainly seemed to do the trick. She threw back her head in a most undignified and unladylike manner to let out a peal of laughter.

Almost instantly, the man with the shock of grey hair appeared to unsubtly shepherd the young lady away from Steerpike. Both of them walked away together, talking animatedly, leaving Steerpike to watch them go with a sour expression. Thomas raised his eyebrows (while realising that doing so was becoming something of a habit whenever watching Steerpike's interactions with other people).

Steerpike swung the small cane he had been holding by his side back up under his arm with a flourish before stalking off purposefully towards the castle.

'Here we go.' Sarah's words jolted him back to the present. He followed her gaze to see that the Crawley's had come into view.

Gulping down what was left of his coffee, he quickly rose to join them.

The pre-lunch, lunch and immediately post-lunch period was a confusing and infuriating blur of misinformation, multiple costume changes and general uncertainty. It was a huge relief when the attendant in charge of the servant's hall managed to get enough of a handle on the plans in order to correctly instruct the staff about the evening's activities.

The activities, it transpired, revolved around two separate exhibitions of wood carvings; one (presumably of the more high quality work) for the noble guests, the other for the visiting staff. From the way that the attendant spoke, it was clear that the staff were intended to take it as a supreme honor that they were being included (after a fashion) in that particular activity.

Honor or not, Sarah declined to attend. She could barely suppress her yawn as she conveyed that particular sentiment to Thomas, and headed off to pursue a brief nap in Mary's currently empty room.

And so it was that Thomas found himself wandering through the hall of wood carvings alone, or at least feeling alone. Truth be told, the hall was packed. For most of the length of the long hall, it was barely possible to make a path through the crush of people. But as far as Thomas was concerned they might as well have not been there. Surrounded by the servants chattering in foreign languages with each other and the disquietingly mute carvers themselves (who were clearly expected to stand and display their creations in their own hands for hours on end) Thomas felt himself zoning out in the heady atmosphere of the room.

The hall was kept dark save for strategically placed burning torches, no doubt to accentuate the otherworldly quality of the primitive carved figurines. A very pungent and spicy incense pervaded the air, the closed window shutters keeping the smoke from escaping, leaving it to swirl around the room like a low fog.

Finding a quiet spot at the far end of the hall, Thomas perched on the side of what looked like a large oddly shaped bath tub to idly watch the progression of the other servants as they wove their way through the carvings on display.

'I wouldn't stay there if I were you.'

Thomas jumped at Steerpike's voice. As he raised his head he realised he must have fallen briefly asleep; the hall was now practically empty save for the carvers and a few guards by the door.

He scrambled to get to his feet, his head swimming as the smell of the thick incense once again invaded his skull.

As soon as Thomas's body was no longer in contact with the tub, Steerpike called out to the guards.

'You may begin now.'

Thomas half stumbled, half walked to stand next to him. 'What are they…?'

'Watch. You'll see.' Said Steerpike with a small, slightly dangerous, smile.

The guards traversed the length of the hall, collecting up carvings from their creators' arms as they went, ultimately depositing them inside the large tub.

The carvers began to traipse out of the hall.

Thomas frowned. 'So where is this being taken?' He said, indicating the pile of carvings.

'Watch.' Said Steerpike again, his eyes on Thomas's expression.

Confused, Thomas turned back to the carvings.

He couldn't suppress a surprised and pained gasp as the nearby guard threw a flaming torch into the tub to ignite them. He turned to Steerpike in wide eyed shock and was deeply perturbed to find him staring back at him in amusement.

'I'd always wondered how an outsider would react to this.' Said Steerpike, the grin on his face fading as he redirected his gaze to the bonfire of carvings.

'It's…I don't know…' Said Thomas, taking a few steps closer to the flames as the figurines at the heart of the fire began to disintegrate before his eyes.

'Neither do I. But it's in the book.' Said Steerpike, stepping forward to join him.

They stood staring into the fire as the last remaining people filed out of the hall.

Thomas found the crackle of the bonfire undeniably comforting and warming, despite the unfortunate circumstances of it's creation.

It was with a slightly heavy heart that he acknowledged that he was most likely late and really ought to be returning to Lord Grantham.

'Well I…' Thomas turned to Steerpike.

He was closer than Thomas had expected.

Thomas wasn't sure if it was his proximity, the semi-darkness, the lick of the flames or the haze of incense, but something sent a completely unexpected electric jolt up Thomas's spine.

It was a 'moment'.

And if the confused look on Steerpike's face was anything to go by, he had felt it too…or at least, registered  _Thomas_ feeling it.

The thought of which sent Thomas into a fit of internal panic laced with nausea.

'Thank you for allowing me to witness this…event…thing…' He babbled, indicating towards the flames as he backed away from Steerpike. 'This is…fascinating from an ethnographic perspective.'

'I am glad you think so.' Said Steerpike in his usual, slightly patronising, voice.

Thomas gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and made a hasty retreat, feeling a titanic wave of relief as he stepped out of the darkness and into the corridor.


	12. Chapter 12

The fifth day of the trip brought boredom unlike any Thomas had ever known before. He had no doubt that Robert and Cora were suffering through something excruciating and tedious in the Great Hall, but at least they had the luxury of having something to  _make_  them bored. Thomas, on the other hand, had precisely sod all to do.

There were no newspapers available, and the few books clustered around the servant's halls looked more like ancient artefacts than objects for actual use (i.e. Thomas suspected the pages would fall out if he were to pick them up). There were musicians practicing nearby in anticipation of the concert to come the next day, but as they seemed to keep repeating the same sixteen notes over and over (stopping dead each time they reached the end of the sequence) they provided more annoyance than entertainment. There was no radio to speak of. The card games that were in progress each already had more than the strictly appropriate number of players.

The only other servant he had spoken to since arrival, the Frenchman, was alternating between tailing one of the maids about the hall and talking excitably in (very elaborate) French with two of the other members of staff. Given that his skills at French extended to little more than 'Where does it hurt?' and 'Can I have a fag?' Thomas had the feeling he would be unable to meaningfully contribute to the conversation even if he had felt so inclined.

After the brief yet stomach churning awkwardness of the previous night, Thomas couldn't even escape to the confines of his own mind without shuddering in embarrassment at his own unexpected lapse of…well, lapse.

He wound up spending an inordinately large amount of time in Robert and Cora's room, re-checking every item in Robert's wardrobe for the minutest evidence of dirt or damage. There was precious little to be done there. Thomas resorted to turning out, inspecting, and re-packing his own suitcase (still stored in the Crawley's rooms for safekeeping) but found that his possessions remained in a depressingly perfect state of repair.

He had to be sure to keep the noise down. In the room next door (as Thomas had been informed that morning) Sarah was nursing a severely under the weather Lady Mary.

More than once Thomas contemplated knocking to see if he could offer any assistance to the two of them; in large part due to boredom, but also a small yet rising concern as to Mary's welfare. He had never known her to 'take ill' before, and did feel something of a lingering responsibility for her following Matthew's brief amity towards him during the war. He severely hoped that Mary would be able to get herself together by the time they eventually made it back to Downton, having the horrible suspicion that Carson would hold himself and Sarah personally responsible if she returned in anything other than a state of harmonious wellbeing (or at least, any worse than how she had been when she had left).

Thomas was even unable to coax much of a conversation out of Robert when he dressed him for bed that evening; clearly his own assessment about the tedium of whatever the nobles had been subjected to was correct. Robert was in bed, practically asleep, before Cora had even entered the room; something highly out of character.

Thomas wandered slowly back towards the servant's quarters alone.

He paused at the junction that led towards the front doors and courtyard beyond.

His fingers curled around the cigarette packet in his pocket.

Despite his horrendous boredom, Thomas had not allowed himself more than a couple of cigarettes during the day. His internal reasoning justified this by pointing out that he still had a few more days to go at Gormenghast, and he would be unable to re-supply until they reached the second port en route back to England. He had, thus, promised himself that he could indulge in the evening if he was able to abstain and protect his store of cigarettes during the day.

But as he stood there, Thomas couldn't quite deny the creeping suspicion that this particular line of reasoning was a poorly disguised cover that his brain had produced in order to allow him to justify heading out to the courtyard.

He did genuinely want a smoke though.

A few minutes later as he stubbed out his first cigarette on the stone paving of the courtyard, he moved to light another almost instantly.

He told himself he absolutely wasn't lingering in anticipation of anything in particular. And he gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of 'anything in particular' actually appearing. But he did remain.

As his slightly rotten luck would have it, at the exact moment that Thomas allowed himself his only glance up to look at the roof up above, a familiar voice rang out immediately besides his ear.

'Looking for someone?' Said Steerpike from just behind him, inclining his face heavenwards to mock Thomas's current attitude. 'We can go up if you think you can make it a second time without falling.' He said with a grin. 'I wouldn't mind a talk. Today has been one long…epic…bore.'

'Glad it wasn't just me.' Said Thomas, turning to look at Steerpike with a smile. His relief at the extreme lack of awkwardness in the manner of Steerpike's address was strong enough to make him completely overlook his jeering tone. 'Go on then.' He said, indicating for Steerpike to lead the way.

A few minutes of gut-wrenching terror and humiliation later (at least on Thomas's part) the two of them settled down against the slope of the roof, looking out over the extensive collection of buildings of the eastern section of Gormenghast. The sun hadn't quite sunk below the rooftops behind them, rendering the buildings below a mottled collection of glowing orange-tinted stone and stripes of speedily shifting long, black shadows.

Thomas stared in contented wonder for what felt like a good ten minutes before remembering that conversation was supposed to be the goal of this particular endeavor.

'Happy with how everything's going so far with the celebrations?' He offered.

'Happy isn't the word for it.' Said Steerpike. 'But I am satisfied.'

'Well that's something.' Said Thomas, bringing a cigarette to his lips, cupping a hand around the flame of his lighter against the slight breeze in the air.

He noticed Steerpike watching the gesture intently.

'Seriously…' Thomas reached into his pocket to produce the packet of cigarettes. 'You can have one if you want.' He said, holding both the cigarettes and lighter out towards him.

Steerpike shook his head.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Thomas replaced them both in his pocket.

He watched as Steerpike leaned back to lie flush against the slope of the roof, staring up at the sky with his hands behind his head. Thomas slowly did the same, save for two personal amendments; keeping pressure on his feet to keep from sliding down the ledge (still unable to fathom how Steerpike was able to be quite so confident about not falling) and only placing one hand behind his head as a cushion as he continued to work his way through the cigarette he held in the other.

The silence stretched on.

Eventually it began to make Thomas uncomfortable.

'So what did you have in mind when you suggested a talk?' He said with a hint of amusement.

'I don't know.' Steerpike replied, still staring up at the rapidly darkening sky.

'Well…' Thomas was struck by inspiration, but also by the realisation that he needed to tread  _very_  carefully. '…How about you tell me about His Lordship's family?'

'The Groans? Really?' Said Steerpike, as though Thomas had just suggested they spend the evening counting grains of sand.

Thomas laughed. 'Yes, really, unless you have a better idea?'

When Steerpike remained silent, Thomas pushed on.

'So…I've already met Titus…' Thomas put on an imitation of Barquentine's 'announcing' voice. '…Earl of Gormenghast...' Steerpike's face actually creased up a little as he suppressed a laugh. Thomas dropped back to his usual voice as he continued. 'But what about the women in the family?' He said, trying to give the impression of nonchalance and absolutely no inappropriate investment in knowledge of the status of Steerpike's relationship with the womenfolk of Gormenghast…none whatsoever.

'The women…' Steerpike paused, lost in thought for a moment. 'I suppose you saw them all together in the tent at the Lake Pageant?'

'Yes, that's right.' Said Thomas.

'Well…the huge hulking mass of womanhood, that looks as though she could eat us both whole, that's Gertrude, Titus's mother. She likes birds…and cats…and has trouble channeling her energy or emotion into anything else. '

'Interesting…' Thomas said. Although she was most definitely not the one that he was hoping for Steerpike's opinion on.

'The twins…Clarice and Cora….they're about as intelligent as the dirt under your fingernails…' Thomas was about to protest that he absolutely did not have dirt under his nails, before glancing down and realising that he had in fact collected quite a bit of brick dust on the climb. He made a mental note to pick out the offending dirt with his small screwdriver before going to bed. '…and they're easily led. There's not much else to say about them.'

'The other, the one with the long black hair, that is Lady Fuchsia…' Thomas did his best to not look as though he had just pricked up his ears. 'She's Titus's sister. Passed over as heir, and none too happy about it…at least not until Titus was old enough for her to decide she didn't quite hate her baby brother after all.' Steerpike said with an affectionate sigh.

'I noticed you entertaining her at the breakfast yesterday…' Thomas prompted.

'You mean my expressions?' Steerpike gave a laugh. 'Yes…she does have rather a taste for the ridiculous. I see no harm in indulging her.'

'That grey-haired bloke seemed to think there might be some harm in it…' Thomas said, cautioning himself against pursuing the issue much further.

'Ah yes, Doctor Prunesquallor. He's resented me ever since I moved on from working as his dispensary clerk to working for Barquentine. And he is fiercely protective of Fuchsia, though he has no right to be.' Steerpike concluded somewhat bitterly.

'You've never given him reason to worry?' Said Thomas with a good imitation of a disinterested laugh.

'Not yet.' Said Steerpike, suddenly feral. 'And by the time I do, it'll be too late to take it back.'

Thomas's eyebrows made a rapid journey skywards. 'Those don't sound like the words of an honorable suitor...' He said.

'No…' Steerpike agreed. 'Not honorable, but a suitor nonetheless.'

Well, that's that then, Thomas thought to himself. Although something in Steerpike's tone made him reluctant to drop the conversation completely.

'Are you…' Thomas tentatively began. '…hoping to profit by your attachment to the Lady Fuchsia?'

'Sharp one, aren't you.' Said Steerpike with a chuckle.

Thomas was a little taken aback, having expected Steerpike to respond with denial or offence…definitely not agreement.

'Careful there.' Thomas heard himself say softly in response.

Steerpike turned over onto his side and slid a little closer over the roof tiles. 'What do you mean?' He said.

'Just be careful. Whatever you do, or don't do, at the end of the day she's still an Earl's daughter…and you're just a servant.'

'Is the concept of blackmail foreign in England?' Said Steerpike with cruel sneer.

'No…it isn't.' Thomas said quietly. 'But it's a lot less reliable than you would think.'

'Was she as high-ranking as an Earl's daughter?' Said Steerpike. At Thomas's quizzical expression he clarified. 'The one you tried to blackmail…was she as high-ranking as an Earl's daughter?' Steerpike said, his interest clearly piqued.

'I'm not sure actually.' Thomas said, distracted from the still painfully memory as he considered Steerpike's question. 'In England a Duke ranks higher than an Earl…but in England our Earls don't generally sit on thrones and wear crowns. So I'm not really sure how they compare…So, however a Duke fits in to your social hierarchy I suppose.' He concluded.

'A Duke?' Steerpike said.

'Hmmm' Thomas nodded, reaching for another cigarette.

'A Duke?' Steerpike said again.

'That's what I said.' Thomas grunted, unsure what Steerpike was getting at. The cigarette suspended between his lips as he brought the lighter up.

'If my books are correct…I believe the female form is referred to as Duchess…' Said Steerpike pointedly.

Thomas paused with the lighter midway to his mouth.

His blood ran cold as he shakily resumed closing the distance between the lighter and the cigarette, listening to the sound of Steerpike pensively clicking his tongue behind his teeth with a feeling of growing dread.

'Well...' Said Steerpike eventually. 'I have to hand it to you; that's dedication.'

Thomas choked loudly on the breath of smoke he had just taken.

'So what went wrong?' Steerpike continued, ignoring Thomas's reaction to his previous statement.

Thomas cleared his throat, staring incredulously sideways at Steerpike.

He was astonished at the rapt attentiveness of Steerpike's expression.

With a small shrug, still feeling somewhat uneasy, Thomas managed to organise his thoughts enough to reply.

'Honestly…I suppose I got outmaneuvered. He stole the proof I had that something had happened. With no proof it was just my word against his, and I was only a footman.' Thomas took another, more careful, drag of his cigarette. 'It never would have worked out anyway. Even if I'd  _had_ evidence he would have been able to silence me if he really wanted, and if it had worked I wouldn't have been happy…' Thomas strongly considered leaving off the final part of the sentiment, but in the end decided that he might as well make the most of the rare opportunity the conversation seemed to be affording him. '…because whatever else I could blackmail him into, I couldn't have forced him to care about me…and at the end of the day, if I'm completely honest, I think that's what I really wanted...more than the promotion than he was supposed to give me.'

Steerpike frowned. 'But it worked, didn't it? You've risen far above being a footman.'

'Believe me, that's another story entirely. And absolutely no bloody thanks to him.'

Steerpike let out a low whistle. 'Feelings…' He said disapprovingly, wrinkling his nose.

'Yes…feelings.' Thomas agreed with a wry smile. 'My advice to you: If you do decide to follow that particular path with your Lady Fuchsia, for fucks sake don't fall in love with her.'

'Duly noted.' Said Steerpike with a grin. 'Got any other pearls of wisdom or cautionary tales for me…?'

The world was well and truly asleep by the time they parted ways that night.


	13. Chapter 13

Shortly before lunch the next day Thomas was surprised to see Sarah appear at the doorway to the servant's hall.

Aside from a brief conversation with the Frenchman in slightly awkward English, in which Thomas had mused on Gormenghast's good fortune in apparently having escaped playing any part in the Great War (prompting the Frenchman to cast his eyes ruefully at the antiquated state of the room around them before making the curious remark ' _Il faut casser le noyau pour avoir l'amande...'_ before clarifying 'The war brought many changes to France, England too I suspect, No?'), Thomas had once again had a highly boring morning.

He followed Sarah out into the corridor when she motioned to him.

'Everything alright?' He said, looking in concern at the dark circles round her eyes.

'It will be if we can have a sit down.' She said in a voice completely devoid of enthusiasm.

Thomas didn't need to be told that she meant 'alone' and led her away from the servant's hall without a word. They eventually managed to find a broad hallway at the junction between several corridors with a large stone bench set around the base of the central pillar.

The two of them slowly waked over and sat down.

Unlike most of the claustrophobic rooms, this hallway was well lit by the light of large windows. They were set high into the walls above the multiple archways which marked the beginning of several corridors emanating out from the hallway. Through one of them, strains of music drifted along from the concert that was taking place in the Great Hall beyond. All in all, Thomas found it rather pleasant (despite it clearly being a more-recent version of the room that Steerpike had locked him in earlier that week).

But as Thomas turned to Sarah to voice that particular sentiment, he found her facial expression was decidedly unamused and quickly made the judgment that it would be unwise to speak of sunshine and light at that particular moment.

'So what's happened?' He said with a grimace. 'How come you're not with Lady Mary?'

'The Lady Mary…' Said Sarah with a defeated sigh. '…has decided she would like to be without my company for the present.'

'She threw you out?' Said Thomas, unable to resist a small grin.

'This isn't amusing to me, and it shouldn't be amusing to you.' Said Sarah reproachfully. 'I'm going to give her an hour then I'll go back and see her…can you imagine how His Lordship would react if she were to do herself a mischief…and under my watch, as well.'

'She really misses him, doesn't she?' Said Thomas. It was definitely more of a statement than a question.

'She's missing a lot of things right now.' Said Sarah bitterly. 'She's missing the baby, she's missing Anna…I still can't believe that His Lordship thought taking her away from all she knows would help her get over what happened.' Sarah glanced around nervously before concluding. '…Fool.'

'I don't know…' Thomas shrugged. '…I can see how making a clean break could make things easier to get over.'

Sarah snorted.

'What?' Said Thomas dully.

'No, no…' Said Sarah with a hint of malice. 'I've just remembered I'm not allowed to talk about  _that_.'

'What?' Thomas repeated more insistently, gritting his teeth together.

Sarah sighed, the edge dropping from her voice as speedily as it had arrived. 'Do you not think you should have made a clean break after….what happened?' She said softly.

'There was nothing to 'break' from.' Said Thomas, shivering slightly in agitation. 'And James has been a good friend to me.'

'Don't give me that. I  _know_  you.' Said Sarah sternly. 'You fell in love with him just as easily as I've seen you do far too many times before…only this time it hasn't gone away when he's told you to leave him alone…' Her voice became quieter as she continued. '…The past few months I've seen you do everything for him, and he's giving you nothing in return.'

'Oh I see, suddenly got my best interests at heart again, have we?' Said Thomas snarkily.

'Think what you like. But you're doing yourself no favors by keeping up the charade.' Said Sarah.

'He's a good friend to me, nothing more. And I'm happy about that.' Thomas replied in a tone that very much suggested the discussion was at an end.

'You still love him.' Said Sarah simply. 'And until you deal with that, things won't get better.'

Thomas sighed in frustration. 'Go on then… _If_  I did, what would you suggest I do?'

'How should I bloody know?' Said Sarah levelly. 'I just know you've got to do something. For the sake of everyone, downstairs and up, who has to look at your simpering face on a daily basis.'

'I don't simper.' Thomas asserted angrily. 'And I am content with situation between James and myself.'

'Very well then.' Said Sarah. 'You are content.' She said with a roll of her eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Late that afternoon, Thomas was in the final stages of clearing away the required props for preparing Robert for the evening meal when Cora emerged from Lady Mary's room in a terrible state. He quickly looked away upon noticing the tears streaming down the small crevices of skin thrown up by her anguished expression.

'Should I go, My Lord?' Said Thomas quickly, making a point of keeping his eyes on the floor.

'Wait…wait outside, please.' Robert stuttered, shocked and pained by Cora's distress to the point of having almost forgotten Thomas's presence.

Thomas made a speedy exit, closing the door quietly behind himself before leaning his back against the stone wall on the opposite side of the corridor. Through the doors ahead he could hear the muffled sounds of both Cora's high pitched and almost hysterical pleas to Robert and the low raw sobbing of Lady Mary in the room next door.

Thomas shook his head before resting it back against the stone to stare at the be-cobwebbed ceiling, occupying himself with calculating precisely how many minutes of the Gormenghast visit still remained.

He was just coming to the conclusion that the answer was 'too many' when Robert emerged from his room, closing the door gingerly behind him.

'My Lord?' Thomas stood to attention.

Robert walked to stand next to him, inclining his head to practically whisper in his ear. 'Do you suppose, Mr Barrow, that there could be some…substance…available that would enable Lady Mary to get some much needed rest?'

'A sedative, My Lord?' Said Thomas.

'Shhh.' Robert glanced nervously back at both doors. Finding them closed he turned back to Thomas to nod. 'Yes.' He admitted. 'I don't know how well the idea will be received by the ladies, but if you could see a way to obtain it…I will endeavor to broach the issue.'

Thomas thought for a moment before kicking himself for not thinking of the solution immediately.

'When I spoke to a Mr Steerpike yesterday he made reference to a Doctor Prunesquallor who provides medical expertise to the Groan family, I could ask Mr Steerpike where I might find him.' He said.

Robert shot him a very grateful and relieved look. 'If you could go and do that now, Mr Barrow...?'

Thomas gave a quick bow. 'Right away, My Lord.'

As he began to walk down the corridor, Thomas was suddenly hit by the uncomfortable realisation that he actually had just as little idea as to where Steerpike was likely to be as Dr Prunesquallor. Although he reasoned that Steerpike's place of business was likely to be within the main castle, and thus closer.

He quickly made his way back the servant's quarters and attempted to obtain directions from an infuriatingly vacant maid that he ended up practically forcing to accompany him, not trusting one iota of the information she had given. Having grumbled for the entire walk, she eventually stopped halfway down a wide passageway on the fifth floor and indicated a set of large double-doors towards the end.

Thomas strode off towards them without bothering to thank her.

A shuffling behind him indicated that she had headed back on her way.

As he approached the doors the sound of raised voices met his ears. He stopped walking, trying to gauge whether or not it would be prudent to wait outside until the occupants of the office had finished their clearly very animated discussion.

The decision was made for him as the double doors both swung open grandly to reveal a bearded guard, flanked by two soldiers, exiting the office. One of the soldiers looked as though he were trying very hard to suppress a bad fit of giggles, while the guard at the helm had a distinct air of satisfied self-importance.

Thomas shrank back against the wall of the passageway to let them pass before making his way into the office.

He entered just in time to see Steerpike hurling a chair part way across the room.

'What the fuck?' Thomas mouthed to himself, staring in bewilderment at the almost unfathomable collapse of Steerpike's usual cool restraint.

Steerpike swept several metal implements off of the desk in front of him with an angry howl before looking up in shock, relaxing when he recognised Thomas, then tipping the desk over.

'The pathetic…stupid…' Steerpike stalked a path around the side of the room, knocking stacks of paper off the shelves as he went. '…useless…disrespectful…uneducated…BASTARD!' He shouted the last word down the passageway out of the open door before slapping his palm viciously against the adjacent stone wall, breathing like he was about to hyperventilate.

Thomas roused himself from his stunned stupor as Steerpike doubled over to let out a grating, animalistic moan.

'Hey, stop that!' Thomas ran quickly across the room.

He grasped Steerpike by both shoulders to push him back upright, propping him up against the wall behind.

'No one…however much of a bastard…is worth getting this worked up about!' He exclaimed, giving Steerpike's shoulders a vigorous shake. Steerpike's head lolled about unresponsively as he did so.

As Steerpike let out another anguished sound, somewhere between a scream and a moan, Thomas felt the pressure on his hands increase as Steerpike tried to force his way out of his grip.

'None of that! Eh?' Thomas said, stepping in closer to immobilise him. 'You  _need_ to calm down.'

Steerpike relaxed a little against his hold, but continued to breathe erratically looking almost on the verge of tears.

Thomas was starting to get that way himself.

'Look…'

Steepike suddenly gave another loud and distressed shout.

The sound triggered a (very) latent parental instinct within Thomas (that in all honesty, he had never known existed up until that point) causing him to pull Steerpike forward to envelop him in a tight hug, planting a small kiss into his hair as he rocked back and forth on his feet to sooth him.

The realisation that he had rather crossed the bounds of professional propriety with those particular actions was just beginning to dawn on Thomas when, quite by accident, he and Steerpike both happened to incline their heads in such a way as to wind up with their mouths less than an inch apart.

The sensation of Steerpike's fitful breaths against his lips set off a sizeable army of alarm bells within Thomas's head.

He stood motionless, desperate to pull away but somehow fearing that to make a large show of doing so would make the situation worse. The one silver lining was that this particular turn of events had caused Steerpike to finally still in his arms.

Thomas came to the conclusion that the most sensible course of action was for the both of them to slowly extract themselves from one another and dismiss the incident as precisely what it was…an accident…and then get on with a) forgetting it had ever happened and b) locating some hard drugs for Lady Mary. Internally he questioned just how the  _hell_  he managed to get himself into these situations.

He didn't have time to reach a conclusion regarding that particular train of thought; he was somewhat distracted by the press of Steerpike's deceptively succulent lips against his own.

The kiss lasted less than a millisecond, but still too long for it's occurrence to be denied.

Thomas had no idea which one of them had actually initiated the contact, but his internal panic forced him to be the one to end it.

He just about managed to choke out a quick 'I'm sorry' before turning tail and practically sprinting away down the passageway.

Several hours (and multiple unhelpful members of Gormenghast staff) later Thomas succeeded in obtaining a sedative from Dr Prunesquallor and delivered the bottle immediately to Robert, not particularly fancying his chances of convincing Cora or Mary that it was the best course of action but at least he had discharged his own responsibility in the matter.

The thought of a cigarette that evening stirred up a strong wave of panicked nausea.

Despite fearing to be left alone with his own thoughts, Thomas really had no option other than to turn in early.

He lay awake, agitated and alert, throughout the night, half expecting to be roused by the footfalls of the castle guards.


	15. Chapter 15

Thomas was sincerely relieved to find himself still a free man as he rose from bed the next morning.

The sense of relief deepened as he worked his way through breakfast and dressing Lord Grantham without incident.

He was almost feeling himself by the time he joined the rest of the staff on the large lawn within the castle grounds, where a large central arena of grass had been marked out in anticipation of the day's entertainment.

The odd wing emerging from the wooden cages at the side of one of the marquees, as well as the (apparently) rare sight of Titus's mother Gertrude taking a prominent position among the spectators at the nobles' side of the lawn, led Thomas to surmise that they could expect something relating to birds.

Sure enough, an hour later when the rest of the guests had finished filing out into the spectator area, the commencement of a falconry display (in honor of Titus 77th Earl e.t.c., of course) was announced.

The event got off to something of a shaky start.

Rather than a falcon, the first bird released was actually an owl, an owl with a very large wingspan from what Thomas could see. After being grandly introduced as a totem of Gormenghast by Barquentine, his voice booming through a speaking-trumpet over the assembled crowd, the bird flew majestically along the designated flight area, straight over the head of the man swinging the meat-lure, over the assembled crowd…and over the trees beyond to vanish into the distance.

For a few moments a bewildered stillness fell over the assembled crowd (save for the man still valiantly swinging the lure, looking about him in a highly sheepish manner), it was abruptly broken by the amplified shouts of Barquentine.

'Don't just bloody stand there, get on with the sodding rest! Blast the temperamental bastard...'

Thomas smirked to himself as the men in the designated arena area scrambled to get the next part of the display ready, by now more than used to the comic ineptitude that seemed to have characterised every event that week in some form or other.

Thankfully someone thought to wrestle the speaking-trumpet out of Barquentine's hands to spare the crowd the worst of his exasperated cussing. Thomas glanced over in the direction of the announcing platform, unable to quite see it due to the obscuring effect of the crush of pavilions and people, wondering if Steerpike was getting his ribs bashed in again.

The thought of Steerpike sent a shot of ice through his veins.

Thomas directed his gaze to the floor to take some deep breaths. He reassured himself that if Steerpike intended to have him arrested (or in some way reprimanded) he would have done so by that point; it wasn't as though he didn't know where Thomas and the Crawleys were to be found. He reasoned that all he needed to do was ensure he avoided Steerpike for the final day and night of the visit, and then tomorrow he could flee and finally allow his heart rate to settle down on the journey home.

He would never have to see that man again.

But even as he sighed in relief at the prospect, Thomas was surprised to note a pang of sadness that crept in as well.

'Away with the fairies are we?' Sarah said dryly next to him.

Thomas roused himself up out of his thoughts. 'Just thinking about the journey back tomorrow.' He said. 'Not looking forward to getting jostled about for hours on end…but it will be nice to get home.'

'I'm with you on both accounts.' Said Sarah with a humorless smile.

'I wonder how His Lordship and the others are getting on.' Said Thomas, squinting across the grass towards the area housing the nobles (an entirely useless gesture given the huge volume of people).

'Well whatever you got for Lady Mary seemed to do the trick. Slept right through last night.'

Thomas's body gave an involuntary shudder at the memory of the previous night but he recovered quickly. 'I thought you seemed in a better mood today.' He teased.

'Although…' Sarah continued, ignoring Thomas's jest. '…I think it's the prospect of going home tomorrow that's got her out and about today more than anything else.'

Thomas gave a small nod of agreement.

Sarah gave a deep sigh. 'The sooner we get away from here, the better.'

'I am sorry to hear you find out hospitality so lacking Miss O'Brien.'

Both Sarah and Thomas spun around to find Steerpike standing a short distance behind them, in the midst of a small bow, one arm behind his back with his cane tucked under the other.

Thomas stared at him, utterly crippled by terror as to what end Steerpike may have sought him out.

His distress went unnoticed by Sarah, who was too busy choking on her righteous indignation at Steerpike's presumptuous interjection.

'I  _don't_ believe we have been introduced.' She said coldly to him, more than a little unnerved at his knowing her name.

'My apologies Madam.' Steerpike swept into another, even deeper, bow. 'Mr Steerpike at your service. Forgive me, I have had the pleasure of conversing with your colleague…' Thomas looked up sharply, but Steerpike's face was the very picture of easy pleasantness. '…and I felt highly remiss for not having had the chance to meet your good self. Mr Barrow speaks most highly of you.'

From the look of Sarah's face, she didn't know whether to be angrier at Thomas for speaking  _'highly'_  of her, or Steerpike for his calculated and blatant attempt to put her off guard with flattery.

Looking between the two of them, Thomas was distracted from his personal unease and confusion by the potential train crash he could see developing before his very eyes.

Unfortunately, speech continued to temporarily elude him, rendering him powerless to intervene as Sarah spoke again.

'And do you often eavesdrop on private conversations, Mr Steerpike, and enter conversations uninvited, based on an incomplete understanding of the topic, based solely on what you _think_  you heard?'

Thomas winced at the mercilessly cutting edge of Sarah's words.

Steerpike bowed again.

'Madam, please understand that the happiness of our noble guests and staff is the foremost concern of my waking hours. It aggrieves me terribly to  _accidently_ happen upon evidence that I have been remiss in my duties. Please do forgive my presumption Madam, I wished only to personally pledge my services to you. If there is anything I can do to remedy any oversight on the part of myself or the household of Gormenghast then please do not hesitate to instruct me. I am at your service.'

Thomas blinked at the contrast between Steerpike's reaction to his own complaints when they had first met and the obliging front that was currently being offered to Sarah.

Then Thomas realised; Steerpike was  _playing_  with her.

And he had to hand it to him, despite being the one offering apology, supplication and submission, Steerpike had somehow 'won' the exchange. Steerpike's words and posture trod expertly along the fine line between utter humility and mocking insincerity, rendering Sarah equally as unable to reproach him as she was to accept him.

Thomas didn't think he had ever seen Sarah so rattled.

It was quite comical.

It made him briefly forget his own reasons for suddenly being nervous of the young man before him.

Rising from his bow, with more than a hint of merriment in his eyes as his gaze briefly met Thomas's, Steerpike bid them good day and moved on.

'So…' Thomas said after a few moments of awkward silence. 'What do you think of Mr Steerpike then?'

'Well I…um…' Sarah briefly turned her eyes towards Thomas before returning to stare after Steerpike, who had long since been absorbed by the crowds beyond.

'It's not often I see you lost for words…' Said Thomas with an amused snort. 'I should have Mr Steerpike round more often.'

'I wouldn't advise it.' Said Sarah, giving her arms and head a quick shake to dispel the lingering tension.

'And why's that?' Said Thomas, grinning slightly as he committed the brief exchange between Sarah and Steerpike to memory as comedy gold for the future.

'He's…um…' Sarah mumbled as she vigorously rubbed her hands up and down her arms as though brushing off invading insects. 'I don't know.' She concluded lamely.

Her eyes met Thomas's, and clearly didn't like what they found.

'Oh you haven't…have you?'

Thomas stood stunned by the sudden intensity of her gaze before leaning in to whisper. 'Perhaps I have. But it was the briefest…nothing, really… And clearly he isn't too cut up by it, so what's the problem?' He said before righting himself again.

The last part of Thomas's statement was intended to be rhetorical, but Sarah was unwilling to let the matter rest.

'When I said you needed to do something about the situation with James, this isn't what I meant.' She whispered back.

'For the last time, James is a friend. Nothing more.' Thomas growled at her.

'Alright…' Sarah quickly agreed, deciding that that particular point was not the most pressing issue at hand. 'Just…there's no need to throw yourself at the first bloke to show you any attention.' She said in what was clearly intended to be a pacifying voice, but somehow missed the mark.

Thomas wanted to tell her that he actually had no intention of throwing himself in Steerpike's direction.

He wanted to tell her that he found him too thin and too pale to be attractive, and more importantly too arrogant and indecipherable to trust.

But a small part of him also wanted to talk to her about Steerpike's strangely unguarded openness with him…about the similarities he saw between them…Or at least, he would have done if this was still the same Sarah of eight years ago and he the same Thomas.

In the end what came out was: 'I fail to see what business it is of yours if I decide to take advantage of an opportunity that presents itself.'

'I wouldn't…not with him anyway.' Said Sarah undeterred.

Thomas decided to let the obvious retort that leapt to his lips dissipate without vocalisation.

'Why not?' He said.

'I…I don't know.'

'Thank you, that's very instructive.' Said Thomas sarcastically, heading off in the direction of the beer tent for a much needed pint.

He had half decided to head in that direction because it was the one Steerpike had taken and thus was only half surprised when Steerpike briefly accosted him in order to see if he wished to join him on the roof again that night for another talk.

Thomas agreed, more than a little grateful for Steerpike's apparent willingness to overlook his unfortunate actions of the night before for the sake of good conversation.

Much later, as he joined the steady march of people heading back inside the castle to begin the evening routine, Thomas was distracted from his internal musings by the sight of the man who had originally opened the falconry display; still walking around the perimeter of the lawn…still swinging the lure.

He couldn't suppress a burst of laughter and made a mental note to tell Steerpike about it later that night.


	16. Chapter 16

'Don't those clouds look a bit angry to you?' Said Thomas, NOT looking down with all his might, inclining his head slightly towards the deep purply masses rolling in from the west.

He and Steerpike were almost literally hanging (save for a small protruding ledge of stone that was barely wide enough to be tip-toed along) off a large guttering pipe, several buildings away from where they had spent their earlier evenings.

Steerpike had suggested they venture further afield that evening ('Well it  _is_  your last night here…') and Thomas, who had found the original view more than worth the terror of the climb, had acquiesced.

He was dearly regretting that decision now.

Essentially, he was suspended the height of the equivalent of two Downton Abbey's stacked on top of one another, inching his feet along the ledge and his hands along the gutter, absolutely certain that whatever awaited at the end would NOT be worth it…but desperate to reach it as soon as possible nonetheless.

At Thomas's question Steerpike jerked his head around, so speedily it made Thomas's head spin, and removed one of the hands he was using to hold himself up, which temporarily made Thomas's heart stop, to shield his eyes to peer at the distant horizon.

'We'll be alright for a while.' He said, spinning his head back around to look at Thomas (who was trying and failing to keep the fear of falling out of his eyes). 'Not much further Mr Barrow!'

A bit further into the climb Thomas froze completely at the moment where they had to shimmy around the corner of the building, but Steerpike's amused laugh at his distress roused his pride enough to force him to push on.

Finally they arrived at an intersecting section of wall which (just like the building leading up from the courtyard) had stone bricks removed at strategic locations to enable one to climb up onto the roof even higher above.

'The final bit, I swear.' Said Steerpike, as he bounded up the wall.

Thomas let out a shaky breath.

He knew that he could manage the final bit, in theory. After all, he had managed the initial climb twice (unaided) up the building in the courtyard.

However, this particular wall was suspended over a drop that promised instant death for carelessness (whereas the courtyard building would have perhaps given a sprained ankle at worst) and he couldn't quite shake the memory of that first time he had almost fallen…and would have fallen, if Steerpike hadn't grabbed him.

But the only other option was to retrace the entire excruciating process of following the gutter and almost impossibly small ledge around the side of the adjacent building.

Biting his lip to the point of breaking the skin, Thomas somehow made the climb.

Steerpike was waiting for him, sitting astride the peak of the roof, next to a large chimney stack, with a triumphant smile.

Shaking like a leaf, numbness creeping through his limbs, Thomas pulled himself up to do the same.

He shunted forwards after Steerpike as he pulled himself along the roof ahead of him, his eyes entirely focused on the uppermost tiles of the peak of the roof that he was straddling, as though he expected the roof beneath him to suddenly vanish.

'Ok, here we are.'

Thomas glanced up, first seeing Steerpike's back directly in front of him, then seeing nothing but sky beyond, then looking down to find what seemed like the entire breathtaking expanse of Gormenghast beneath his feet.

It wasn't just the glow of the stones, the unfamiliar yet striking architecture, or the impossible size of the fortress; It was the feeling of being above it. Thomas found himself reveling in the sensation of sitting high above it all, where the air seemed to taste different, a small breeze rustling the rigid tendrils of slicked hair on his head as though to greet him to the strange new world.

There was something empowering about being up there, above  _them_ , all the others scurrying about below unaware of the true vastness and beauty of the world they inhabited.

It instilled something of a Godlike feeling to see the land stretching out below him. An irresistible buffet of places and possibilities. And at that moment, somehow  _his_  world. The roofs and walls a highway to anywhere he wished to be.

For a moment, he genuinely felt that Gormenghast was his own for the taking.

Then he looked directly down and felt his stomach lurch violently at the obscenely steep drop below.

The moment pushed some of the fantastical romanticizing out of his mind, but the view in the distance remained unbelievable magical just the same.

'I can't believe somewhere like this exists.' He heard himself saying.

Steerpike craned his neck to look back at him quizzically.

'It's like something from a legend, makes me feel like some all-powerful being looking down on it.' Thomas clarified. 'To me anyway…you're probably used to it, living here and everything.'

Steerpike smiled. He turned away from Thomas to look over the view ahead. 'I'm not used to it. How could I be? It is more brilliant each time I see it…I knew you would appreciate it too.' He said, glancing back briefly again. 'I just wish some of them down there would do the same.' He concluded, his words taking on an acid tone.

'People don't seem to be particularly…awake…here.' Said Thomas with a laugh.

'No…they do not.' Said Steerpike, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he joined in.

Thomas slowly looked over the huge expanse of buildings on display, then up to the woodlands beyond and the shapes of the craggy stone fields which were now nothing but dark shadows in the slanted evening light.

The sky above was almost entirely devoid of it's usual blue. Rather, purple and yellow was the order of the gorgeous gathering dusk.

Pure magic.

It was the kind of sunset that practically insisted upon being shared with someone, ideally a loved one, but in the absence of such a person Thomas had to admit he didn't feel too hard done by to be witnessing it with the strange creature that was Steerpike.

He felt a surge of warmth at their shared appreciation for Gormenghast at that moment; in a way that no others were ever likely to see it.

Thomas couldn't actually remember a time when he had felt as elated.

The sudden urge to hug the man in front of him was strong; to move just a little further forward, close the distance between them, press his chest to Steerpike's back and hug his arms across his stomach…in a strictly appreciative gesture.

(And if the move happened to enable him to press other, slightly lower, things against the available contours then that would just be a happy side effect.)

Abruptly, he came to his senses.

He viciously berated himself for once again equating a man being willing to spend time with him with a man who was open to…other things.

And, he reminded himself, he wasn't  _actually_  attracted to him.

He rolled his eyes angrily at his…urges…for having spoiled what had otherwise been a rather glorious moment of abandon.

It was something of a welcome distraction when Steerpike expertly swung his leg backwards over the peak of the roof, following round with the rest of his body, to turn around and sit facing him.

'You're bleeding, Mr Barrow.' Said Steerpike with amusement.

Thomas darted his tongue out and tasted iron at the corner of his mouth. 'Damn…I…'

'…Bit your lip in terror while you were climbing?' Steerpike interjected, breaking into a grin that showed off far too many teeth.

Thomas gave a resigned grunt, whipping out his handkerchief to dab blindly at the wound.

Steerpike didn't move to help. Nor did he opt to comment on whether or not Thomas had succeeded in removing it all.

'How come you're so comfortable up here?' Said Thomas, eager to redirect the conversation away from his own ineptitude.

'Practice.' Said Steerpike simply, the grin still in place.

Thomas sighed. 'So how do I compare to the others?'

Steerpike quirked his head to one side, looking confused.

'The others you've brought up here. How does my pathetic attempt at climbing compare?' Said Thomas, smiling through his embarrassment.

'What others?' Said Steerpike with a dismissive shake of his head. 'Why would I want anyone else in  _my_  kingdom?'

Thomas frowned. 'You let me…'

'You are the first person I have met who seems to belong in it, Mr Barrow.'

Thomas wasn't entirely sure how to take that particular comment, and the suddenly blank look on Steerpike's face offered no help.

Thomas groped for a way to ease the strange atmosphere that had descended along with the sudden cooling of the air around them as the wind picked up.

'Perhaps I should be 'Thomas', rather than 'Mr Barrow', since I'm being afforded this great honor.' He said.

'Thomas…' Steerpike repeated slowly, his eyes vacant as he scanned some deep internal memory bank. 'That means 'twin'…' He eventually said.

'Oh don't you bloody start that again!' Said Thomas with a wry smile.

When Steerpike declined to speak further, Thomas continued. 'So…this is usually the part where you tell me your name...?' He said.

The vacant look on Steerpike's face became somewhat pained and he remained silent.

'I'm sorry!' Thomas said quickly. 'I didn't mean to be overly familiar. Of course you are under no obligation to…'

'No, no…' Steerpike cut in. 'It's just, I don't have one. Or, more than one, is what I mean I suppose.'

'You only have one name?'

'Yes, or at least, this is the only one I know of.' Said Steerpike, looking down at his hands cupped over the peak of the roof tiles that he sat astride.

He looked intensely embarrassed.

Just as Thomas was congratulating himself on yet another faux pas, Steerpike spoke again.

'I worked in the kitchens of the castle as a child, you see. The cook liked to give the kitchen boys strange names. If you think mine is bad, you ought to meet some of the others I grew up with. If they are still alive…' Steerpike said, the vacant look briefly returning to his eyes before he dismissed whatever thought train he had embarked upon with a shake of his head.

'Perhaps you could change it?' Thomas offered. 'Take up a new one, or choose an extra one or…something.'

'Why? It's a mark of how far I've come. I'm sure you can appreciate the satisfaction it gives me when I am receiving orders; to hear the name of a kitchen slave called out by the Earl of Groan.'

Thomas stared back at the look of pride in Steerpike's eyes with astonishment.

'That's…amazing, actually.' Said Thomas. 'I had no idea that you'd come from…so little. And good on you for not trying to hide it or letting it hold you back.'

'I make my own luck, Thomas. And I am no victim.' Said Steerpike.

'I should be offended...' Said Thomas with an exaggeratedly stern look.

Steerpike frowned, confused.

'…You've basically nicked  _my_  mottos.' Thomas concluded with a grin.

Steerpike let out a relieved laugh. He looked up warmly at Thomas.

His hands nervously twitched on the tiles in front of him, as though he was contemplating putting them somewhere else.

Thomas glanced down at Steerpike's hands.

'Oh Damn!' Steerpike suddenly exclaimed, staring off to the side of Thomas's head. Thomas turned to see that the heavy clouds he had noticed earlier were now almost upon them; rolling in at an alarming pace and rumbling in a highly ominous manner. 'We should get moving before it…'

At that exact moment the remnants of the sun were blotted out and the two men were engulfed in grey sheets of water that beat down at a harsh angle from the approaching cloud.

'Fuck!' Said Steerpike, giving a slightly manic laugh at the rain, which instantly penetrated through to his skin.

Thomas shivered, equally soaked, and eyed the narrow ledge of the adjacent building with extreme trepidation. 'I hope you know another way out of this!' He shouted over the noise of the pounding rain as it rattled on the slate tiles.

Steerpike gave another laugh, which somehow managed to chill Thomas even more than the rain, before collecting himself enough to speak.

'I do! Start moving backwards!' Steerpike shouted back.

Thomas began to shift back as Steerpike scrambled after him. The tiles under his fingertips felt incredibly slippery under the sheen of water and frankly he was terrified. At the point where Thomas reached the side of the roof, where they had climbed up the wall from the ledge, he paused with his back against the chimney breast.

'No time to rest, Thomas!' Steerpike shouted, indicating the chimney above.

Thomas looked up, blinking against the harsh raindrops hitting his face.

'Are you bloody joking?' He shouted.

'No!' Steerpike yelled with another laugh, using Thomas's thigh as a step to allow him to latch onto the chimney breast and start climbing.

Thomas called Steerpike every name under the sun (or in the current situation, the rain) as he gingerly rose to follow him, trying to ignore the twinge in his leg where Steerpike had stepped on it.

The stones were slippery, but mercifully the distance required was not far, and Thomas found that his adrenaline was enough to get him up.

'Down we go!' Exclaimed Steerpike grandly when Thomas reached the top, before vanishing into the chimney.

'What the…' Thomas began to whisper to himself, but he soon saw that the interior of the chimney was actually composed of multiple ledges (and presumably drainage channels to deal with such instances of inclement weather as they were currently experiencing) and did not in fact require him to take a steep drop.

Feeling somewhat bewildered (as well as cold, wet and disgruntled) Thomas dropped down after Steerpike to climb into the darkness below.


	17. Chapter 17

Thomas picked up a large number of bruises on the nerve-wracking, dark and painful descent. It wasn't that it was particularly difficult to cross back and forth from ledge to ledge down the chimney, it's just that his unwillingness to get left behind in the dank and unfamiliar place had him clumsily hurling himself after Steerpike at a pace far faster than his neglected physical reflexes could handle; coming to land far too often on his flank, wrist or (on one particularly scary occasion) his back rather than his feet.

They finally exited the chimney through a fireplace. Steerpike crouched down just enough to swing his upper body under the carved stone surround and emerge to a standing position, Thomas rolled ungracefully out on his side (picking up a fair bit of dust to add to the misery of his wet jacket as he did so). The room was small and completely grey with dust and neglect. It was lined with glass fronted cabinets, their contents hidden behind decades of grime.

But before Thomas could investigate further, Steerpike crossed the room in a few paces and wrenched the door open to leave.

Scrambling up onto his feet Thomas jogged after him.

'Where are we going?' He called after him, still wheezing slightly from the exertion of the climb.

'Somewhere warm!' Steerpike said, briefly turning to look over his shoulder, his usually smooth shoulder-length hair now more akin to bedraggled rat tails as it swung about his head.

As Steerpike led the way into another room, Thomas was somewhat dubious of his claim regarding warmth.

As Steerpike paused briefly to turn the key in the lock behind them Thomas continued to shiver.

Steerpike launched himself across the floor, coming to rest on his knees by the fireplace. Retrieving matches from a small box by the side, he set flame to the paper packed below the piled logs which were already stacked within.

Thomas watched him from across the room. Still bewildered, still disgruntled, he was very much of the opinion that he would like to put this particular adventure to an end.

But as he shivered, droplets of water flicking off the ends of his hair in front of his eyes, he knew with absolute certainty that leaving the room (when there was the immediate promise of a warm fire) was simply not an option.

He didn't need to be told that this was Steerpike's room. The sparse yet functional furnishings of the room put Thomas in mind of the servant's quarters back home. Looking to his left he saw the same basic arrangement; bed, bedside table, lamp. To the other side was a simple desk, chair and bureau. Nothing about the furnishings or their arrangement was remarkable, there were simply  _there_ , serving their purpose.

Looking across at the far side of the room, Thomas saw a set of cabinets (not unlike the ones in the room they had just been through, although these were clean, varnished and expertly polished) containing hundreds of small glass bottles in regimented rows. The vast majority seemed to contain liquids, although there were some pills and powders, and the entire spectrum of the rainbow was to be found in the varying colors of the glass. He recognised them as the same type of bottle that Dr Prunesquallor had provided the medicine in the previous day.

'Bit of a hypochondriac are we?' He said, bobbing about on his feet a little to keep warm.

Steerpike twisted his torso to look back around at him from his position on all fours by the fire, he gave a snort of laughter when he saw Thomas's expression as he looked over at the library of bottles.

'I told you I used to be a dispensary clerk for the Doctor. Such supplies and expertise never fail to come in useful.' He said.

'Right…' Thomas said, dubiously eyeing the extensive collection.

'Come on….' In an instant Steerpike was on his feet and by his side, pulling him over towards the fire place. 'Can't have you taking ill, or I'll have to waste my medical supplies on you!' He teased.

Thomas allowed himself to be led and was surprised at the wall of heat that struck him as he approached the fire. It had grown from tiny cracklings to gloriously roaring in a matter of seconds. Thomas suspected Steerpike may have cheated and added some flammable substance to the kindling, but at that moment he really didn't care; it was warm, he was wet and cold.

'Here.' Steerpike handed him a white towel and then set about maneuvering a small metal drying rack from the side of the room to stand directly behind them by the fire.

'I don't…'

Steerpike gave him a deeply patronising look. 'The towel is for you. In case you hadn't noticed…' Steerpike said, as he peeled his saturated jacket off his shoulders. '…we got rather wet.'

He shook out the jacket once it was off his arms, deliberately flicking some water in Thomas's direction, before placing it over the drying rail and getting to work unbuttoning his waistcoat.

'I should get back.' Said Thomas quietly.

'It's over an hour to get back to the servant's quarters from here through the buildings, I would advise you to not attempt it on your own.' Said Steerpike continuing to undress, his motions somewhat jerky and overly exaggerated at the violent shivers that hadn't yet abated in the warmth of the fire. 'I will be happy to escort you. But NOT until I'm good and dry…You are of course welcome to wait in any manner you choose.'

Scowling at him, Thomas slapped the towel down on the nearby chair and began wrenching off his own clothes. Keeping his back to Steerpike, Thomas had to admit that the relief of immediately shedding the cold, dripping, fabric and exposing flesh to the heat of the fire was infinitely preferable to the idea of squelching down the corridors in his wet state en route to the servant's quarters.

He wrapped the coarse towel around his waist before picking up the wet and dirty bundle of clothes from the floor where he had discarded them to place them over the drying rack next to Steerpike's.

When he turned round, Thomas tried not to make too much of the fact that Steerpike was completely naked…as Steerpike himself certainly didn't seem to be making too much of that fact; sitting on the floor with his legs slightly bent, the majority of his torso shielded by his hunched position, alternating between running his fingers and a towel through his lengthy hair in an attempt to speed up the drying process, he seemed to have somewhat forgotten Thomas's existence.

Thomas dropped down onto the floor beside him.

He gave a lengthy sigh, stretching out his arms to the fire. 'Oh…that does feel good!' He said, twisting his hands first one way then the other.

'Ah, the famous  _war_  wound.' Said Steerpike, glancing forwards at the exposed scarring on Thomas's hand. 'From what you said the other night I thought it would look worse.'

Thomas flexed his fingers. 'It's had a while to heal, I suppose.' He said.

'Hmmmm.' Steerpike murmured in agreement. He finally abandoned his attempts to dry his hair and draped the towel across his waist, leaning back on his arms he stretched his feet towards the fire, mimicking Thomas's attempts to warm his hands.

Thomas found himself gradually unwinding at the pleasant warmth, the uncomfortable adrenaline from their hurried flight down from the roof beginning to abate.

His heart abruptly leapt to his throat again when he felt the pad of Steerpike's index finger pressing into the skin mid-way up his thigh. 'What…?' Thomas looked down to see that Steerpike was tracing a line of discolored skin.

'Yes…that would be where you stepped on me.' Said Thomas gruffly, contracting the muscle and shifting the leg to dislodge Steerpike's hand.

Steerpike snorted. 'You were in my way.' He said with a sly smile.

'You really don't play well with other people do you?' Said Thomas, raising a hand to scratch at the back of his neck at the slimy trail left by his rain-dislodged hair product.

'I play well enough.' Steerpike replied, sitting up again to rest his elbows on his knees.

Thomas was unable to suppress a snort of raucous, and slightly cruel, laughter. 'Really? The way I see it you seem to be pissing people off left, right and center. One of your masters thinks so little of you that he knocks you around, your other master clearly hates you, the guards make fun of you, your ex-boss doesn't trust you with the one person that you actually seem to  _want_  to spend time with, and the whole time I've been here I haven't seen you engaged in a non-work related conversation with a single person…servant or noble. I mean…not that I'm saying that the people here aren't useless bastards…but how on earth does that equate to you playing 'well enough'?'

'I am able to achieve what I want to achieve.' Said Steerpike simply. 'It is not my fault that people sometimes can't appreciate my methods.'

Thomas swallowed heavily at the hint of mournfulness in Steerpike's voice. He cast about for a means to lighten the mood.

'Maybe, as a start, you should stop locking people up in abandoned parts of the castle…' He said, giving Steerpike's bare shoulder a brief playful nudge with his own.

'Why?' Said Steerpike as he stared directly ahead into the fire, the corner of his lips quirking into a devilish smile. 'It worked with you, didn't it?'

There was something in the tone of Steerpike's voice that has Thomas's mouth dropping open ever so slightly.

'What do you mean by that?' He eventually said, his voice a lot hoarser than he would have liked.

'I think you know what I mean.' Said Steerpike softly, turning his head a little to allow him to look sideways at Thomas.

Thomas grimaced.

He met Steerpike's gaze with a reproachful look. 'That's not really a response is it?' He said, suddenly no longer in the mood for games. He rose from the floor, making sure to keep tight grasp of the towel around his waist. He raised a hand to test to see if his clothes had dried out to a wearable standard.

Steerpike's serene expression gave way to laughter as he jumped up off the floor to join him, running a hand lazily along the top rail as he slowly circled the drying rack. He came to a stop in front of Thomas, the clothes laden drying rail between them, staring at him in amusement.

Despite his confusion, discomfort and frustration at the situation, Thomas was unable to stop his eyes from wandering southwards down the sleek line of Steerpike's throat to the marble-like (in color as well as perceived texture) muscles of his chest.

'Thomas...' Said Steerpike in a sing-song voice.

Thomas swore internally, realising that Steerpike couldn't have failed to notice his wandering eyes. And (unexpectedly) tempting as the prospect before him suddenly seemed, Thomas immediately came to the conclusion that it somehow wouldn't be 'right'.

'Look…I really enjoy talking to you. But I'm sorry, I don't have feelings for you…like that.' Said Thomas, shutting his eyes and lowering his head apologetically.

He braced himself; a small part of him expecting Steerpike to respond incredulously that he had absolutely NOT been insinuating anything of the type.

'I don't want your feelings. You  _are_  leaving tomorrow, might I remind you.'

Thomas stared back at him. 'Then what exactly  _are_  you proposing?' He said, his heart rate quickening despite strict orders from his brain to maintain calm.

'I thought you might like to bed me.'

For that brief moment, Steerpike's voice seemed to take on a remarkably canny resemblance to Thomas's own. It was the perfect Yorkshire drawl. Thomas felt as though he himself had just spoken the phrase into a mirror, as though practicing the line…then his 'reflection' smiled by itself, jolting Thomas into the realisation that the prospect was actually reality.

To say Thomas was 'thrown' by the situation would be a momentous understatement.

'What about her Ladyship?' He said.

'Lady Fuchsia?' Said Steerpike with a frown. 'What's that got to do with anything?'

'She's a woman…' Said Thomas slowly. Steerpike merely raised an eyebrow. '…I'm not.'

'And if I wanted to bring 'feelings' into the matter, then that would be something of a problem.' Said Steerpike with a slightly feral smile.

Thomas's heart rate quickened further in approval of the direction Steerpike seemed to be taking.

'I won't insult you by denying that it's a…tempting thought.' Thomas cleared his throat nervously. 'But…' He continued, his voice becoming stronger. '…My personal preferences would make me a poor substitute for your woman.' He said apologetically.

'How so?' Said Steerpike, wandering slowly around the drying rack to Thomas's side.

Thomas's mind was suddenly completely preoccupied with the realisation that Steerpike had left his towel back down by the fire.

'How so?' Steerpike repeated, sincere and without the amused tone of his earlier words. To him, the fact he was naked seemed to be temporarily of little consequence (so much so that Thomas began to feel somewhat guilty for sexualizing it with his errant gaze), he was simply a man asking a question who just so happened to be wearing no clothes.

'Because I  _give_ …I don't… _receive_.' Said Thomas, wishing he could have thought of a more delicate way to put it. 'And…um…I'm sure you understand the implications of that.' He said awkwardly.

Steerpike took another step closer, inclining his head up slightly to meet Thomas's eyes.

'Alright.' He said.

Thomas blinked. 'You what?'

'I said alright.'

Thomas stared down at him in surprise.

He decided that if there was ever cause for an 'Oh, what the hell?' moment, then this was it.

Sinking into the inviting earnestness in Steerpike's eyes, a world away from the confident teasing of earlier, Thomas leaning down a little to make his lips accessible.

He paused, wanting to give Steerpike the opportunity to dictate the moment of commencement.


	18. Chapter 18

The seconds ticked by with both men silent and motionless.

'You…you need to kiss me.' Said Steerpike quietly.

Thomas frowned a little, raising a hand to run a finger along the underside of Steerpike's jaw, wondering at his hesitation.

Looking at his expression he suddenly recognised the unmistakable signs of intense nervousness.

He was hit by the rather obvious realisation that someone who could barely extract a civil conversation was unlikely to have ever experienced anything resembling physical intimacy.

Thomas's lips were on Steerpike's in an instant.

He compressed the soft fullness of Steerpike's lips beneath his own in a lingering and largely motionless closed-mouthed kiss.

He simultaneously wrapped his arms around Steerpike's back, cupping his hands around his shoulders from below his arms, to hug him tightly to him. Steerpike slid his hands around Thomas's waist in response, his hold even tighter than Thomas's.

Thomas could read distinct evidence of satisfaction in the exaggerated expansion of Steerpike's chest against his own as he luxuriated in the sensation of their bodies flush against one another.

Once confident that Steerpike was not going to run away screaming or threaten him with physical violence in response, Thomas broke the contact to allow him to recapture Steerpike's mouth in a slightly more invasive manner. He gently sucked Steerpike's upper lip, then lower lip, between his own to moisten them, allowing him to more effectively slide their mouths together as he teased Steerpike's mouth open slightly with the very tip of his tongue.

Thomas allowed his right hand to travel down the side of Thomas's back, over the furrows of his rib cage, along the smooth curve of his waist and…

He broke the kiss momentarily to carefully watch Steerpike's expression as his hand travelled lower. Finding nothing but nervous yet eager encouragement, Thomas resumed their sensual kisses as he allowed his fingers to explore the firm yet malleable curve of his rear.

Steerpike's mouth became rapidly more responsive. Like the rapidly kindling fire, he went from 'barely contributing' to 'ravenous consumer' within a matter of seconds. His movements were highly sloppy, something not helped by the atypical fullness of his lips, but Thomas could not fault his enthusiasm and made the decision there and then that he would happily take unashamed insatiable clumsiness over cool measured skill for any future liaisons that the heavens chose to gift him with.

'So…bed?' Thomas gasped out when he finally managed to extract himself long enough to take a breath.

Steerpike nodded, clearly unwilling to lose one inch of the skin contact between them as he and Thomas slowly maneuvered backwards.

As he settled down to lie over Steerpike's naked body (his own towel still in place by sheer luck) Thomas found himself engulfed in a very warm embrace. He leaned his head down next to Steerpikes, gently caressing his cheek with his own.

The hug was pleasant, but somehow contained a little too much need (and not of a sexual kind) for Thomas's liking.

He gave a quick soft kiss to Steerpike's cheek before whispering in his ear.

'We can just stay like this you know. Don't have to do anything else.'

'What?' Steepike said in confusion.

Thomas pulled back, propping himself up on his arms. 'It's just…I understand that you are very lonely …You do realise you don't have to  _do_  anything? I've no problem just holding you. You don't have to…do anything else.'

Steerpike looked up at him in surprise. 'You really  _are_ a sharp one.' He said ruefully. 'But luckily for you…' Steerpike trailed a hand down Thomas's forearm. '…I am also a seeker of knowledge…There are some things one can't learn from books, or any way for that matter, other than experience.' Steerpike raised the same hand to stroke at the base of Thomas's throat. 'Basically, I'm curious…and I'd be a fool to miss this chance.'

Thomas nodded slowly, not entirely sure if he was on board with Steerpike's confusingly multifaceted train of reasoning, but having got this far he was willing to let the particulars of the matter slide; just so long as he could dull the nagging paranoia in his stomach that Steerpike actually had no idea what he was asking for.

'Just to clarify…' Said Thomas. '…you are most definitely going to be the one  _receiving_  the knowledge in this situation.'

'I understood you the first time.' Said Steerpike, a hint of the malevolent sprite of the previous few days reappearing behind his eyes as he pulled one of his legs out from under Thomas's body and hooked it over his back, trailing the tips of his toes along the curve of Thomas's backside before bending the leg to bring his knee up and in line with Thomas's shoulder.

Thomas blinked in surprise.

'Well…that's…um…good.' He said, resisting the urge to throw any kind of precaution or propriety to the wind to just 'have at it'.

'Impressive flexibility.' He remarked.

'A necessity for effective climbing…' Said Steerpike with a mocking smile, bending the leg a little closer towards his chest, enabling him to give a playful push to Thomas's shoulder with his foot. '…I'm sure your talents lie elsewhere.'

Taking in the sight of Steerpike's infuriatingly smug smile, as well as the very compromising position he had contorted himself into, Thomas was suddenly hit by the realisation of what he was being given license to do. Here was the man who, for the most part, had been running circles round him the entire week…mocking…teasing… And he, Thomas Barrow, was being given the ultimate opportunity to redress the balance of power to a level far more pleasing to his own character.

He mused that it was not often one got the chance to 'thrash out' ones frustrations with the offending party...literally  _with_  the offending party.

That particular thought shot his level of arousal painfully high; his thought track moving from appreciating the surprisingly alluring abdomen of the man below him (and eagerly anticipating exploring the associated curves and crevices) to the absolute certainty that he was going to get inside him as soon as possible.

But he wasn't so far gone so as to forget the necessary pleasantries.

'Do you have any oil, or grease, or anything?' He said.

Steerpike shot him a deeply patronising look, indicating the hundreds of bottles shelved in the cabinets across the room with a flick of his eyes.

With a snort of derision, largely aimed at himself, Thomas reluctantly pulled himself up off of Steerpike (and the bed) to cross over the room.

'First cabinet. Third shelf. Six from the left. That ought to do the trick.' Called Steerpike.

Thomas noted in surprise that none of the bottles on the shelves were labeled.

'Are you sure about that?' He said.

'Quite sure.' Steerpike replied, stretching out shamelessly on the bed.

The distance between the cabinets and the bed seemed quite far away to Thomas, and he was somewhat thankful for the towel still wrapped round his waist. Although he was a little upset that the towel did not allow him to cover his stomach; his own personal insecurity.

Looking at the lean muscles of Steerpike's torso did nothing for his personal self-esteem.

'What…?' Said Steerpike, noticing Thomas's hesitation as he approached.

'It's just…' Thomas glanced down at himself. 'Not exactly in your league, am I?' He said ruefully.

Steerpike sat up to reach for Thomas's waist. 'Who cares? You're warm.' He said with a smile.

Thomas snorted, slightly hurt but pleasantly surprised at the lack of mocking in Steerpike's reply.

'Just a piece of meat to you am I?' Thomas retorted with a laugh.

'Why? What else am I to you right now?' Said Steerpike, lying back down on the mattress with a wry smile.

Thomas stared down at him. 'Steerpike…are you  _absolutely_ sure about this?'

'Yes. But I  _will_ change my mind if you keep bloody dawdling.' Said Steerpike, pulling Thomas back down on top of him. 'And are you ever going to…?'

Thomas preempted him by pulling the towel off and throwing it in his face.

Steerpike gave a gleeful laugh, removing his legs from their current position trapped under Thomas's body, drawing them up and open.

Thomas sank down heavily onto him, murmuring in hungry approval at the sensation of skin on skin, vigorously (almost viciously) nipping at the flesh of Steerpike's lips and jaw to distract him as he reached a slicked hand between his legs to begin testing the resistance of the entrance concealed therein.

Steerpike exclaimed loudly at the unfamiliar intrusion. He leaned his head back against the pillow, mouth open, jaw quivering, as he gave his entire attention to the actions of Thomas's fingers…Thomas himself was temporarily forgotten.

Rather than feeling hurt, Thomas was glad to see confirmation of Steerpike's assertion that this particular exercise was about curiosity and convenience rather than feelings; making him feel significantly less anxious about his own actions. Without the distraction of kisses and mumbled pleasantries, he found the opportunity to watch the miniscule details of Steerpike's reactions to his ministrations (as he twisted and teased with far more mischief than usual) an intensely arousing pleasure.

Thomas could have watched Steerpike 'dance' in that manner all night.

That is, if it hadn't been for his own burning libido, which was arguably more tortured by his drawn out preparation of Steerpike than the man himself.

Thomas decided it was time to remind Steerpike of his presence.

After a few minor adjustments he assumed the position, shivering in anticipation as he forced himself to wait a few moments longer; dragging Steerpike's hips upwards for easier access.

With the most minor of pauses (to take in the deliciously defiant and challenging expression that flitted across Steerpike's face) Thomas allowed himself to surge forwards.

As always, the brief moment of abandon that went hand in hand with immersion in tight heat was short lived; Thomas compelled himself to stop to give Steerpike some much needed time to adjust as he tensed up in distress.

'Are you alright?' Thomas whispered, feeling Steerpike's hip trembling under his hand. 'Are you  _sure_ you are alright with this?'

'How many times do I have to say 'Yes' you fool?' Steerpike grunted, sarcastic and scathing despite being in the midst of losing the battle to relax.

'Oi!' Thomas exclaimed, smiling warmly down at him. 'Don't you think now's a bad time to get me angry. Might make me less careful.' He said teasingly, giving the tiniest rock of his hips.

'How do you know that wasn't what I was hoping for?' Said Steerpike, raising a shaky hand to Thomas's chest, running his nails across the skin.

'Oh I see…' Thomas leaned forwards slowly, folding Steerpike partially over beneath him, to allow him to kiss him. He gave a soft bite to Steerpike's lower lip as he did so. '…so can we add 'exploring masochistic urges' to the list of reasons why you want me inside you?' He whispered.

'Tell me…' Steerpike's voice retained it's cutting edge even as his body shook in discomfort. '…how long till you ACTUALLY get to the action?'

Thomas responded in the only appropriate manner; by withdrawing from the depth already achieved at a glacial pace before vigorously returning to achieve depths hitherto unknown.

The resulting sound from Steerpike was primal and appreciative.

Thomas allowed himself to continue to move. He was soon consumed in maintaining an unrelentingly firm rhythm, spurred on by the fingernails digging into his back.

He growled approvingly, losing himself utterly in the moment.

Instinct rather than design anchored their mouths together again for more of the hungry and deliriously chaotic kisses of earlier. Thomas's mouth reveled in the warmth as he devoured the lips below…so delicious…so full…so soft…they put him in mind of…

'Jimmy…' Thomas moaned.

Before stopping.

'Damn.' He whispered to himself, drowning briefly in a bout of highly unwelcome self realisation.

He was abruptly reminded there were far more pressing concerns as he felt Steerpike shift awkwardly beneath him.

'I am so sorry!' Thomas said, forcing himself to meet Steerpike's eyes. 'I'm so very very sorry!'

Beneath him, Steerpike's mouth hung slightly open as his chest rapidly rose and fell with his shallow gasps. 'Why have you stopped?' He said, it sounded like a genuine question.

'I'm…' Thomas was at something of a loss for words. '…I'm very sorry.'

'Yes, I heard you…' Said Steerpike dismissively, leaning his head side to side to work out some of the kinks in his neck as a result of being pressed into the mattress by Thomas. 'What's it to me?'

Thomas stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

'I'll get off you, eh?' Thomas said, running a gentle hand down the side of Steerpike's face as he attempted to convey sincere apology in his eyes.

'Thomas, I honestly don't care.' Steerpike said with a small laugh.

Thomas's eyes widened further. He could almost believe the man beneath him spoke the truth.

' _How_  can you not care…?' Thomas demanded.

'Like this.' Said Steerpike gruffly, rolling his hips against him, steadying himself with a firm hand on Thomas's waist to enable himself to pull closer.

'Really?' Thomas said dubiously, his hips rocking forwards automatically in response.

A flash of powerful, frustrated anger blazed in Steerpike's eyes.

'For the last fucking time, YES.' Steerpike hissed venomously at him.

That got Thomas's blood up.

The feeling immediately overpowered his bewilderment and embarrassment.

He pulled back, and out, before throwing Steerpike's legs up over his shoulders; re-entering at a ferocious pace with Steerpike bent almost double beneath him.

Somehow, Steerpike still managed to cry out to demand greater vigor.

Thomas obliged with enthusiasm.

Intense enthusiasm.

Everything, save the act at hand, fell by the wayside as the two men achieved total white-hot, red-hazed, abandon.

It was with extreme exhaustion that Thomas eventually rolled off Steerpike, sinking down onto the mattress beside him in a sweaty, flushed, and obscenely satisfied mess.

Steerpike inclined his head for another brief taste of Thomas's mouth before rolling onto his side.

Thomas used the last of his energy to do the same, wrapping his arm around Steerpike's chest and giving a small kiss to his shoulder as he pressed against his back.

They lay side by side, awaiting the return of equilibrium to their heart beats, staring across the room at the flames flickering in the fireplace.


	19. Chapter 19

Thomas stroked his hand lazily down Steerpike's chest. He squirmed and murmured pleasantly under his touch, but didn't redirect his gaze from the fireplace.

'You have a thing for fire, don't you?' Said Steerpike with a smile, giving a gentle nip to the shell of Steerpike's ear. 'I ought to give you my lighter as a present.'

He felt Steerpike's shoulders twitch against his chest as he gave a small laugh.

'I suppose I do 'have a thing' for it.' Said Steerpike. 'You see, it's an agent of change. A leveler, of sorts.'

'Ah…so not unlike how you see yourself.' Thomas playfully pinched the skin of Steerpike's chest.

Steerpike laughed again. 'You know…it was fire that made Barquentine Master of Ritual and Titus Earl of Groan.'

'Really?' Said Thomas pulling back a little to allow Steerpike to turn over and face him.

'Oh yes.' Said Steerpike. 'Barquentine's father, Sourdust, he died in a fire. Burned to a husk in the library of the 76th Earl. It burned down when Titus was a baby, drove his father mad. He disappeared shortly afterwards. You see, he loved his books more than anything…Unfortunately for His Lordship, his family survived the fire while the books did not.' Said Steerpike with a playful smile which belied the horror of the event he recounted. 'And I was the one who saved their lives that night. Got me some much needed recognition while I was still working as a dispensary clerk.'

'Lucky break for you!' Thomas laughed, sitting up on the bed to stretch out his back, arms high above his head, as Steerpike continued to languish beside him.

Steerpike turned slowly onto his back to look up to the ceiling.

'I thought we were agreed that a man must make his own luck?' He said with a smile.

Thomas paused mid-stretch, looking back down at Steerpike with a slight frown. He found a curious mix of anticipation and fear on the face looking back at him; like a child anticipating the negative fallout from having answered back to a figure of authority, but also desperately exited to see what rewards his bravado may bring.

'I suppose…' Thomas whispered, more occupied with attempting to fathom the silent message in Steerpike's eyes than he was with pursuing coherent conversation.

Steerpike appeared to be seeking approval…but to what end Thomas had no idea.

'What…?' Thomas began. At the sight of Steerpike's raised eyebrows, clearly conveying his amusement that Thomas had not yet cottoned on to what he was attempting to relay, Thomas suddenly felt a chill run round his exposed limbs that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

He suddenly decided that, for better or worse, he really wanted to bring this particular encounter (and conversation) to a close.

His position, sandwiched between Steerpike and the stone wall, necessitated rolling over Steerpike in order to successfully exit the small bed (which suddenly seemed to have grown _far_  too small in the past few seconds). This he did, endeavoring to keep skin contact to an absolute minimum; although, given the nudity of both parties, an indecent amount of touching was somewhat inevitable.

Shivering slightly at the suddenly unwelcome contact, Thomas rolled awkwardly onto the floor before quickly crossing the room to retrieve his clothes, keeping his back to Steerpike as he did.

Behind him, Steerpike gave a derisive and harsh snort of laughter.

Thomas paused, his hands resting on the drying rack, every instinct of self-preservation in his body suddenly on full alert.

Steerpike chuckled aimlessly for a while, before allowing the laughter to die with a drawn out sigh.

Thomas found himself frozen, feeling any semblance of control of the situation slipping rapidly away.

'You disappoint me, Thomas.' Steerpike said loudly to the ceiling.

Thomas turned round slowly, holding his shirt at his waist as an impromptu, and much needed, cover-up.

'I don't know what you mean.' Said Thomas nonchalantly.

Steerpike turned lazily onto his side, paying the bedsheet no mind as it shifted and slipped away.

His eyes lingered on the nervously twitching muscles of Thomas's arms as his hands kept the white shirt suspended precariously at his stomach like a shield.

'You know very well what I mean…I would have thought a man of your sensibilities would applaud my methods. Even if you can't fully appreciate what I have achieved as a result.' Said Steerpike, with a smile that suggested that he was actually not in the least bit surprised at Thomas's reaction, and was in fact rather liking his discomfort.

'Are you seriously trying to tell me that you started a fire in which a man  _died_?'

'Perhaps…'

'You really shouldn't have said that.' Said Thomas at length, his pulse hammering in his throat as he eyed the door…gauging if he could reach it (and turn the key ) from his post by the drying rack faster than Steerpike from his position on the bed.

'And why is that?' Said Steerpike, twisting his head and widening his eyes in a gesture of mock confusion, arching his back to let his pale slender torso roll like the body of a snake against the mattress.

Thomas blinked, temporarily thrown by the latent eroticism of the gesture. And then rapidly disgusted by the notion that Steerpike actually seemed to be  _enjoying_  the situation…more than enjoying it, in fact.

'Because now I have to tell someone.' Thomas replied, with a lot more conviction than he felt.

Deciding that the situation more than justified the prospect of running naked down the corridor, Thomas began to stride vigorously over to the door.

Steerpike let out a shriek of pure mania before rapidly getting ahold of himself again; responding before Thomas actually reached the door to leave.

'I think you have it wrong, Mr Barrow.'

Thomas stopped and looked back towards him, finding Steerpike grinning from ear to ear.

'You must think me simple indeed!' Steerpike said, leaning forwards off the bed slightly (prompting Thomas to take an involuntary step back despite the vast distance that remained between them) to raise a reproachful eyebrow at the notion.

'Why do you…?' Thomas began, but Steerpike rapidly cut him off.

'If you wish to unmask the culprits, I must advise you that their Ladyships Clarice and Cora, the amusingly half-witted aunts of the current Earl, were the ones to actually put flame to fabric…I'm sure you appreciate the difficulties likely to be faced by someone of your position should you be the one to cause that particular piece of information to come to light.' Steerpike gave a small nod of his head as he concluded. 'I was merely their Ladyship's  _humble_  servant.'

Thomas's eyes widened in shock, fear and more than a little disbelief. Speech completely eluded him.

He turned away, first one way, then the other, but his eyes were repeatedly drawn back to the deep malevolence behind Steerpike's expression.

The look of defiance on Steerpike's face was powerful enough to provide unequivocal proof of the truth of Thomas's horrible suspicion; that he was in the presence of, at best, a callous manipulator, at worse, an arsonist and a murderer.

Once thing was certainly uncomfortably true, Steerpike seemed to be getting off on Thomas's fearful attentiveness almost as much as he had relished his earlier attentions.

They stared at one another, their deep and heavy breathing unconsciously falling into sync.

Thomas began to notice something very odd was occurring both upon and behind the manically amused mask that Steerpike was presenting to him.

He began to recognise that there were other emotions there too, competing against one another to achieve temporary prominence before being replaced by another more powerful competitor. Steerpike was all at once a triumphant victor, a child seeking approval, a man imploring arousal, a friend giving confidence, an enemy promising pain…

Thinking back to the inconsistencies in the interactions with nobles and staff that he had witnessed over the past week, Thomas realised he was looking at someone who, in carefully honing and controlling their emotions in order to more effectively prosper from any situation that may arise, had actually managed to forget precisely what constituted a genuinely 'natural' response on their part…if, indeed, human emotions, as the majority of people understood them, had ever been a part of Steerpike's mentality.

Unsettling as the situation was, Thomas couldn't help but applaud the heavens for sending him such unequivocal confirmation of the message that had firmly rooted itself in his brain during the trauma and resolution of his past year; that indulging self-promotion at the expense of others went hand in hand with the rape of every desirable quality that 'oneself' had originally constituted.

'You have intelligence and drive, Mr Barrow, just like myself' Said Steerpike, his voice becoming soothing, melodious and mocking. 'It is a shame your  _feelings_  prompt you to disapprove of my actions, my achievements. And that will hold you back from making any of your own…I feel sorry for you.'

'No…' Thomas whispered with a small breath of laughter. 'I feel sorry for  _you_ …' He stared unflinchingly into Steerpike's eyes. '… because I've gotten far further with the help of others than I ever did on my own working against them. And you've got no one.'

'How nice it must be to have people who  _really_  care.' Steerpike drawled sarcastically, his voice suddenly loud and booming, filling the room with sound in a final act of defiance.

'It is, actually.' Said Thomas quietly. With those words the tensions of not just the current situation, but more than a little of the past decade, seemed to sooth. The fingers entwined in the collar of the shirt he still held loosened slightly, his shoulders relaxed, his head bowed to the floor as a he exhaled the excess pressure pushing within his lungs in a long soft breath.

Lying on the bed, his head resting on his hands as he stared blankly at the ceiling, Steerpike sighed softly; the excitable and volatile creature of a few moments ago melting away as though he had never been. A single drop of water, that on anybody else would have been described as a tear, brushed down his temple from the corner of his eye.

A strangely comfortable silence fell between them with the dual realisation that they had both needed to say what they had each said to  _somebody_  and, irregardless of the unsatisfactory reaction of the other man, a certain kind of release more powerful than that to be found in their earlier physical connection had been achieved.

'I really should go.' Said Thomas eventually, his head still bowed to the floor.

He heard the creek of bedsprings as Steerpike slowly rose. The panic induced by their earlier exchange was no more, thus Thomas was able to listen to Steerpike's approach as he picked his way barefoot across the floor without feeling the need to flinch or fly from the room.

He did tense up a little when Steerpike's thin fingers crept around his waist.

'You could stay.' Steerpike said in a low whisper, leaning in and inclining his head up to bury his nose in the side of Thomas's neck, inhaling deeply as though committing his scent to memory.

'After what you've bloody told me?' Thomas said, raising a hand to Steerpike's collar bone to push him away.

Steerpike allowed Thomas to maneuver him back and made no move to touch him again or close the distance between them when Thomas removed his hand.

'You could stay.' Steerpike repeated, his voice a little stronger.

Thomas shook his head.

'You're not right in the head.' He whispered sadly. 'You know that, don't you?'

'That's not really relevant, is it?' Steerpike said, looking up at him with the eyes of a lost child. 'It's just…It's just the same thing as earlier…irregardless of everything else…I would like you to stay. Call it curiosity or masochism as you will…' He continued with a laugh. '…but I imagine sleeping next to another person is something I could enjoy.'

Steerpike gave a small shrug, attempting nonchalance although well aware that his front had all but disintegrated. 'Felt I ought to ask, Thomas.' He concluded awkwardly.

Thomas was struck with two highly painful realisations; firstly, that he himself had never  _actually_  had the simple pleasure of sharing a bed with anyone despite his numerous conquests (nor was the prospect particularly likely within the confines of Downton), secondly, that he had never seen a human being in more pain than the man that stood before him…and the prospect of putting everything else temporarily out of his mind in order to enable him to remedy both problems seduced him in it's simplicity.

Accepting that he was most likely going to be reproaching himself for his decision for the rest of his life, Thomas let the shirt fall to the floor and followed Steerpike back to the bed.

As they lay down beside one another, Steerpike pressed close into him, trapping his hands against Thomas's chest and curling his head to rest just under Thomas's chin.

For his part, Thomas wrapped his arms around the childlike man, resting his fingertips in the indent of Steerpike's spine, trying to impart warmth and comfort with every inch of his skin.

Feeling more mature and tranquil than he had ever felt before, Thomas silently admitted to himself that Steerpike was likely too far gone for human contact to have any meaningful effect.

But he gave it anyway.


	20. Chapter 20

The weather was crisp and bright the next morning as Thomas ascended the side of the carriage to join Sarah on the roof.

'Are you absolutely  _sure_ , we have everything?' Sarah said, wringing her hands nervously in her lap.

'Yes, I am.' Said Thomas wearily for at least the tenth time in the last few minutes.

Sarah sighed deeply.

'I tell you, there is nothing in this world I want more than to be back on the steps of Downton.' She said, keeping a hawk eye on the dozy footmen strapping the final cases onto the back of the carriage. 'I heard that man down there…' She indicated Barquentine, below them on the courtyard platform. '…actually say that there are to be more events like this in the future, when the Earl is married and such, that we might be invited to. I refuse to believe he isn't aware that the experience has been miserable for the lot of us since day one.'

'I wouldn't count on that.' Said Thomas quietly, his eyes on Steerpike who was staring up at him from his position next to Barquentine.

Steerpike gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

'Mark my words, next time it'll be Anna making this trip and no mistake.' Sarah muttered.

Thomas cast his gaze across the assembled group on the raised courtyard platform, lingering first on the cantankerous, yet undeniably old and frail, Barquentine and then on the unhappy and restless young Earl. He glanced up to the balcony above at Gertrude, who was staring up at a set of birds nesting in the rafters, to Lady Fuchsia, who was deep in a daydream, to the statue-like twins, Lady Clarice and Cora, who stood side-by-side, utterly expressionless.

As the carriage began to move he finally looked back at Steerpike, who was still staring up at him with a knowing smile, radiating so much more life and purpose than any of the others present that Thomas felt no doubt in his own mind as he replied to Sarah's grumbles:

'There won't be a next time.'

'What do you mean?' Sarah furrowed her brow in confusion.

Thomas held Steerpike's gaze until compelled by the motion of the carriage to look away.

_If he gets his way…_

'There won't be a next time.' He repeated, turning away from Gormenghast to watch the road ahead.


End file.
